


Moments When You Can't Deny What's True

by nafs (nafio)



Category: Backstreet Boys, Fall Out Boy, Panic At The Disco
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-10-16
Updated: 2007-10-15
Packaged: 2017-10-07 22:17:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 47,580
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/69806
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nafio/pseuds/nafs
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>If he'd thought about it much, Patrick would have envisioned a pretty boy with a lot of attitude and a backing tape, not a pretty boy with a guitar who wanted to <b>soundcheck</b>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to canadiankracka, lovelypoet and erilyn who were the first to tell me this was a good idea, and who kept encouraging me. Also, to calathea whose fault this sort of is.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Spencer Smith gets a birthday present, Nick Carter demonstrates a magic trick, and Patrick Stump reevaluates everything he's ever thought about the Backstreet Boys.

The only reason Nick even picks up the first phone call is that it's his manager's number on the display. When it's not Johnny's voice on the line, he's reminded that they hired Johnny back because he's a devious motherfucker. Which was also why they fired him in the first place.

"Hey Nicky, how's it going?"

Nick is a professional. He is a professional and he knows how to hang on to his temper under extreme provocation. This is why he manages not to hang up on this person that Johnny seems to feel he needs to talk to.

"Who is this?" He's not professional enough to be polite under the circumstances.

"It's Pete Wentz." Nick makes a mental note to call Brian and tell him that Johnny has lost his marbles and they need a new manager. This is inconvenient, seeing as how they've got a new record coming out in a couple of months. "I need a favour of a Backstreet nature, and your manager thought you might go for it."

_A favour of a Backstreet nature?_ The only reason Nick knows he isn't being Punk'd is that he hasn't been out of his house in a week and no one's had any opportunities to plant cameras. He starts glancing around anyway. "A what?"

"Just one little favour. A tiny one." Pete's trying to be charming, but he's not the only professional manipulator in this conversation. Nick is pretty much immune. However he is kinda curious.

"What exactly is this favour, Wentz?"

"I have this friend who's like, a big fan of yours. And he's kinda got a birthday coming up..."

"No." Really there are whole _worlds_ of no just in those few sentences. Plus this is Pete _motherfucking_ Wentz. Not exactly known for his trustworthiness.

"Oh come on. Just like, a couple of songs. I know I should ask for the whole group but your manager drives a hard bargain and I don't like Spencer _that_ much."

"Let me put this another way. _Hell_ no." To make his point, Nick hangs up. The phone rings five minutes later. This time he doesn't recognize the number, and it goes to voicemail.

The phone rings every five minutes for most of the day.

When his phone has been silent and still for more than an hour, Nick gives in to temptation and checks his voicemail.

"Ok, I know maybe it sounds weird, but I swear this is not a joke!"

"You were his _first concert_, dude!"

"He says so in interviews! You can look it up!"

"Um, I should probably explain that "Spencer" is Spencer Smith from Panic! at the Disco."

So Nick googles "Spencer Smith" and "Backstreet Boys". He's not quite ready to look at the YouTube videos, but he does see evidence that Pete wasn't lying. Or at least, not about everything. Nine years old during the first US tour. Now in a really popular band. Going to be _twenty_. It just makes him feel old.

Nick spends the next day the same way he's spent the rest of the week, fucking around in his recording studio, trying to get the songs out of his head and onto the computer. It's a slow process, especially since he's only one guy, but the original plan failed spectacularly, and he's not sure any of his friends are talking to him yet.

Apparently when your friends, who play instruments and are more or less in a band together, say that they'd like to help you work on your self-funded second record, they mean they want to put in maybe two hours a day of half-decent work, eat your food and drink a lot of beer. Actual rehearsal, constructive criticism, or re-takes are beyond the scope of friendship and Nick is a fascist for even suggesting they, say, do some fucking work. The fact that they were being paid didn't seem to make a difference.

But this is shot number two at the second record. The label had already been making disapproving noises when Brian called Nick and told him to get his ass on a plane to the Oprah show, and they'd been paying for songwriters and studio time back then. When he finally got around to actually submitting the old songs for approval, all he'd gotten was a big fat "no". They hadn't released him from his contract, but they weren't handing out advances anymore either.

Now there's another Backstreet record about to come out and all Nick has to show for his time off is a sketchy reality show, and a decent body. As per usual, he got plenty of input into the new record, but it's not the same. He still remembers the heady excitement of releasing _Now or Never_ hearing the crowd sing along to _his_ words, and rocking out to his heart's content. No wardrobe changes, no big production, just awesome music and kids who seemed to get that.

He's never in a million years going to walk away from Backstreet, but he wants the solo stuff too. So half-assed isn't going to cut it.

When Wentz calls again, Nick's been going over the same six bars for about four hours, he hasn't eaten anything and he's out of coffee. In short, it's a weak moment.

"Hey, you picked up!" Wentz sounds delighted. "Does that mean you'll do it?"

"I..." he mumbles, not really able to deal with energy like this.

"Seriously, like, 4 songs? 5? You don't have to like, sing Happy Birthday, or actually serenade the dude, or anything. It's just a nostalgia thing, a break from your normal stuff. It'll be fun." he coaxes.

"You do get that I'm not some has-been pop star who needs to whore himself out to birthday parties, right?"

"I did talk to your manager," Wentz says dryly. "It costs more to rent you out for a party than it does for my whole band. And let me tell you, the figure we set was fucking ridiculous."

"And you know that if you turn this into a big fucking joke, I will kick your ass?"

"You can try. No, no kidding. Come on. Like, twenty minutes at most, and I'll say something nice about the Backstreet Boys in our next Spin interview. No, Blender. Really mess with their heads."

In the end, Nick can't resist the mental image. "Wentz, you've got yourself a deal. When's the party?"

* * * * * *

Patrick has been trying to coax the turntables into some semblance of _working_ for a good half an hour, when the door at the other end of the hall clangs and someone walks through. A very tall someone with spiky blond hair and a guitar case over his shoulder.

"Um, hello?" The someone calls out.

"Hey." Patrick responds, waving until this new person looks up at him. "Can I uh, help you?"

"Nick Carter." Is the reply. "I'm here for Spencer's party?"

"You're kind of early," Patrick points out, trying to remember if he'd known that Spencer knew any Nicks beyond Nick Wheeler. Surely he'd have remembered a big, broad, affable-looking guy like this. Spencer's friends tend to be about as tall as Patrick's friends, which is to say, not very.

"Oh, I'm not a guest." Nick flashes a lightning-quick grin. "I'm the talent. Pete said there'd be someone here this afternoon if I wanted to soundcheck."

"The tal..." suddenly one of Pete's offhand comments makes sense. "You're a Backstreet Boy."

Nick shrugs, but doesn't deny it. Spencer is going to flip out.

"Um, what's with the guitar?" If he'd thought about it much, Patrick would have envisioned a pretty boy with a lot of attitude and a backing tape, not a pretty boy with a guitar who wanted to _soundcheck_.

Nick cocks his head, and that's a definite "Are you serious?" look.

"Right, right." Patrick waves away the question. It isn't like the guitar is here to serve drinks or something. He casts another despairing glance at the turntables. "Okay." He sighs. "Oh, what the fuck. We can run through a soundcheck. Let me get down there."

Descending the staircase, he checks his watch. Jon Walker will be here soon, thank God for honest-to-goodness techs who can set up the mess that is the mainstage and leave Patrick to finish dueling with the damn turntables. Not for the first time, he curses the one sensible bone in Pete's body that had him hold a birthday party for the underaged far away from Angels and Kings.

Nick's handshake is brief but firm, and he gets bonus points for "Patrick, right?" The idea that a Backstreet Boy might actually listen to Fall Out Boy is something Patrick isn't prepared to fathom at this particular moment, so he just nods.

"What do you need? Two mics? DI? Any, um, backing tape?" He _has_ to ask.

Nick snorts. "No backing tape, man. Just a mic, a DI and a monitor. Are you doing sound tonight, or do I need to be back later to explain levels to someone else?"

"It'll be me," Patrick decides. Really, there'll be at least four people around who can run a basic sound board, and they'll probably trade off during the evening. But he can't help meeting this unexpected professionalism with a little of his own. "Let's see if they just dumped the cables onstage, or if we got really lucky."

* * * * * *

By the time the party is properly started, and Pete has progressed to making his speech, Nick's lost any and all nerves he had about this whole insane idea. Patrick surprised him at soundcheck by being pretty much unflappable, and he definitely knew his way around a soundboard. From his hiding place, Nick can see the top of Patrick's trucker hat over by the soundboard, and it's unexpectedly reassuring. At least if he sounds lousy it'll be his own fault.

Yeah, he doesn't regularly perform these songs without the guys, and even more rarely does he do it without accompaniment of anything but his own acoustic guitar, but it's not like he has a chance of impressing anyone in the audience anyway. He's the joke of the night and for once it's on purpose.

 

"So, like, Spencer." Pete says, winding down. "For the boy who has everything,"

_Wrong band_ Nick thinks.

"I give you a piece of musical history!"

The lights go down, a dramatic, if somewhat inconvenient touch, and then Patrick clicks on a pen light over at the sound board and Nick starts to sing.

"Baby, please try to forgive me..."

The reaction is bizarre. A good half the crowd is completely confused. There is definite laughter from more than just Wentz (who is still onstage, cackling loudly) and one very loud "Oh my God, Pete you _bastard_" from somewhere very close to the stage. Standing on the stage, right next to Nick's stool, is a skinny little band boy who looks three parts furiously embarrassed and one part totally amazed. Nick, still singing, because a room full of a couple hundred people cannot possibly create enough noise to compete with the loudest shows he's done, winks at the kid and hands him the blue plastic rose he'd picked up on a whim.

Spencer blinks, deer-in-headlights. Nick decides to give him a few moments. He settles on the stool, slides his mic onto the stand and pics up his guitar. He looks out at the crowd, seeking out the soundboard almost instinctively. Patrick seems fairly unfazed by it all, but gives him a thumbs-up when their eyes meet.

Next thing Nick knows, there's a flurry of movement from the crowd and another two tiny band boys clamber onto the stage, half-dragging a third, more rugged guy behind them. This brings Spencer back to life. He smacks Wentz upside the head (Nick decides to like Spencer) and shoves him off the stage, before being swarmed by what Nick has decided is likely to be the rest of his band.

It turns out that Spencer is not the only possibly-former Backstreet Boys fan in the room.

"Oh my God!" One tiny person (and really, Nick is starting to feel like a giant in this room) mock-screams, high enough and close enough to Nick's ear to make him wince. "You're Nick Carter! Sign... Here. Sign my guitarist!" He thrusts the boy in question at him, to general laughter.

"Um, hi." Says the guitarist, looking flustered and very young. "I'm Ryan."

"You know, I think I'm supposed to be Spencer's birthday present," Nick points out.

"Spencer doesn't talk." The screamer informs him. "But he plays drums! He could play drums with you. Wouldn't that be neat, Spence?"

Spencer has regained his composure and rolls his eyes at this pronouncement. "You'll have to forgive Brendon, he's had twice his quota of sugar already today."

"There is a drum kit, right there." Nick encourages him. "I was only planning to do, like, _Quit Playing Games, I Want It That Way_, stuff like that. Do you want to?"

It takes a few minutes, but with hurried introductions and much egging on from the crowd, Nick ends up fronting Panic! at the Disco, covering _Quit Playing Games_. It is definitely the joke of the night, but the laughter is a lot more with him than at him.

* * * * * *

It isn't as if Patrick's never heard a Backstreet Boys song before, but he had always thought they were just a studio band. Manufactured pretty-boy easy-listening bubblegum pop, right? He could accept Nick not being a diva without too much fuss. And hey, lots of people play guitar semi-decently. Nick being performer enough to take being practically hit on by Panic! is no surprise at all - Brendon Urie resembles a fourteen-year-old girl more often than anyone bothers to mention to him.

What he _didn't_ expect was...this. Nick's voice isn't perfect, Patrick has definitely heard smoother voices. But goddamn if the unnaturally tall golden boy doesn't know how to use it. He lets Brendon lead off, and sits through the verse with his head cocked, strumming the guitar and _listening_. Brendon plays up to it shamelessly of course. And then the chorus comes and Nick just slides into place like he's been singing with Brendon all his life. Lucky bastard has perfect pitch. He takes second verse, slips back into high harmony for the chorus and then _growls_ his way through the bridge. Patrick itches to feed that voice into GarageBand and build things around it.

Brendon almost bounces off the stage when they finish, he's so hyper. Nick just laughs at him. He covers the mic to talk to the band, and then leans into his mic, winking at the audience like he has a secret.

"Hey, so, we're all having a good time up here, but I ain't convinced y'all are having a good time out there."

The reaction is definitely mixed.

"Okay, that's cool. Whatever. But this next number, if you pay attention, you'll find out it's really a magic trick. Ready guys?"

He plays an intro on his guitar that sounds terribly familiar to Patrick's subconscious, and lets Brendon lead off again.

"You are my fire / the one desire..." By the time Nick chimes in, there are people humming along. At the first chorus the humming becomes singing. And when Nick belts out "Don't want to hear you say.." the crowd drowns out Brendon in response.

When they're done, there's plenty of applause. Nick flashes the room a very smug grin. "And that, ladies and gentlemen, is how to turn a room full of unimpressed emo-punksters into a singalong."

Patrick laughs until he runs out of breath.

They do one more number, _Show Me the Meaning of Being Lonely_, that Patrick half recognizes, and then Nick takes his bows, poses for about thirty pictures with Spencer and the rest of Panic!, and packs up his guitar. Patrick abandons the soundboard and heads to intercept him.

"Hanging around?" It wasn't the best start, but Patrick has never been good at small talk.

"Maybe for a while." Offstage, in the middle of a crowd that is, _I Want it That Way_ notwithstanding, not his usual audience, Nick definitely looks a little less open, a little more appraising. The guitar case slung over his back looks a little like a weapon.

"Lukewarm water?" Patrick offers up one of the plastic bottles as a peace offering. "There's a case by the soundboard for some reason."

"Thanks." He downs half the bottle in one gulp, and looks to be seriously considering dumping the rest over his head. Patrick's pretty sure no one would object, but apparently Nick thinks otherwise, and re-caps the bottle. "Fucking stage lights. Hey, is there anywhere to *sit* around here? I feel kind of conspicuous."

Patrick looks him from head to toe and back again, as close as he's comfortable to actually making a joke just yet. "Yeah, sure."

Nick rolls his eyes. "It's not my fault you're all unnaturally short fuckers."

Patrick snorts, but leads the way to one of the padded benches at the edge of the dance floor. Nick half collapses onto it, his guitar case propped between his legs, and Patrick stakes out a space beside him.

"I gotta know. How did Pete "persuade" you to show up?" It's not the best conversation opener, but Patrick has been collecting "Pete stories" since before they even met.

"Promised he'd say something nice about the Boys in the next interview you guys do with Blender." Nick quirks a grin, his face alive with mischief. "Try not laugh when he does, I'm kind of hoping he can make some reporter's head explode."

"That's awesome." Patrick can just see the scenario now. He's glad Nick warned him, he'll have to pass the message along. Joe and Andy can help him find some way to keep Pete to his word. "There's no guarantee it would make it into print, though."

"Yeah, true." Nick shrugs. "I have Pete's number like, fifty times in my last incoming call list. If it doesn't hit the magazine, I'll call the dude on it."

"Fifty times?"

"What, you think I said yes on the first call?" There's that "Are you an idiot?" face again.

"Well you never know." He has to tease. "Lots of people fall for Pete at that first smile."

Nick snorts. "Lots of people haven't spent their entire life in this business. I wouldn't say Pete Wentz is small-time, but I've dealt with sneakier. Hell, if my manager wasn't such a snake I wouldn't ever have talked to him in the first place."

"Okay, this I gotta hear."

Nick finally explains the whole story in full, including the moment of weakness. Being abruptly reconnected to the real world after spending a day on a song - that's something Patrick knows very well. He looks at Nick with real respect. "You're recording a solo album? By yourself?"

"Ain't gonna get done any other way." Nick takes another swig of his water. "I know it's not gonna end up perfect, no matter how much I sweat it. Better than a demo, yeah, remind the suits I'm more than just a pretty boy with a voice. I dunno. It's probably pointless, but I gotta try, y'know? I thought maybe after the first album it would be out of my system, but fuck if I don't want it more now."

"There was a first album?" Okay possibly not the most diplomatic of things to say.

Nick barks out a laugh. "Yeah it only sold a couple hundred thousand in the States. I played clubs to the smallest audiences since I was like... twelve and we were doing schools. But I loved it."

"Is it still in print? Maybe I'll pick it up." It's not a pity offer, either. Nick's totally enthused, and Patrick wants share in that a little.

"Yeah? Gimme your email, I'll send it to you."

So Patrick dictates, and Nick plugs it into his phone. Patrick does the same for Nick's because it's hard to know what's important in his inbox, and what's not.

"What about you, man? Any solo projects?"

"Me?" It's the most ludicrous idea. That he could get up on a stage without Pete, or Travis, or _somebody_ to take the heat off him. "Yeah, no. I'm a producer, not a solo artist."

"Hey, right. You worked with Gym Class Heroes, right? That's a sweet album."

"Thanks, man." As usual, Patrick is blushing at the compliment.

"Don't suppose you've got a hole in your schedule?" Nick elbows him conspiratorially.

"What, for you?" The idea takes Patrick completely aback. He stares.

"Stupid idea, huh? I'd completely ruin your street cred."

"Well... no." He remembers the sudden visceral reaction he had to Nick playing with Panic!. Here Nick's offering it to him on a plate. "We're on tour. I mean, I have a studio on the bus, but it wouldn't be the quality you're used to."

"Better than me by myself." Nick says this to the top of his guitar case, and Patrick realizes he's serious, and that he actually cares whether Patrick says yes or no. He does have another project on his plate, he's still finishing up with Cobra Starship. But working with Nick would be his first project with a totally seasoned professional. Someone he could probably learn from as much as he could teach, and wow, he never thought he'd say that about a _Backstreet Boy_.

Plus, he likes Nick.

"When you send me the album, send me a couple of tracks you're working on. I'll see what I think."

"Really?" And oh boy does Nick light up when he's excited. Like a big golden retriever in sunshine. Yeah, Patrick really needs to spend more time around this guy. Hopefully the music won't completely suck balls.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nick and Patrick get down to the serious business of music-making. And then they have to tell people about it.

When he wakes up the next morning, Nick isn't entirely sure the whole night wasn't a dream. A _producer_. It's been a long time since someone wanted to hear his music, much less someone in a hot band with experience producing other bands. Patrick Stump is officially his Favourite Person outside of the guys.

Once he's up and caffeinated and functional, the second thoughts start crowding in. As much as he might want to be a rocker, Nick's under no delusions. He falls pretty close to the pop end of the scale. And while Fall Out Boy are pop as in "popular", there's a huge gap between emo-punk-whatever-pop and Nick's brand of rock-pop. He and Patrick come from very different worlds. Can Patrick's enthusiasm last past a first listen to _Now or Never_?

Only one way to find out. He sits down at his laptop, zips the album, including art and liner notes, and sends it off to Patrick, telling him the new stuff will come later.

Instead of calling up the list of new songs, he digs out his Fall Out Boy CDs. His music collection can be described as "eclectic" and "vast" - there aren't that many albums that he's really listened to closely, and he needs context. If he sends music to this guy, what is Patrick likely to do to it? Nick's not going to learn that from listening to the stuff Patrick's actually produced, he's going to learn that from listening to the source - how Patrick sings.

He's got a good voice. A strong voice, and getting stronger with age like most guys who don't abuse their voices too much. As much as the double-triple-quadruple-tracking proves it's _calculated_ singing, there's passion there too. Nick knows about passion, he can work with passion, it's a lot better than working with smooth-talking suits. Patrick's credentials are impressive for someone of his age, he's definitely not a suit. He's young guy with lots left to prove, but a guy who listened to Nick talk about his music and wanted to hear more. Nick picks out two tracks, one from the disastrous sessions with his friends and one of his own. If Patrick can tell the difference between the two, he's sold. He adds his phone number and sits back to wait.

* * * * * *

Patrick's not one to check his email constantly, unlike some of his bandmates, but he pays more attention to it than usual that day. When Nick's email comes, he sees it immediately. He opens the attachment, and studies the liner notes, looking for songs Nick actually wrote. Only five tracks, which is sort of disappointing. Of course he's fairly sure the Backstreet Boys don't write much of their own stuff, so maybe for Nick, five tracks was major progress. He makes those tracks into a playlist and tries them out.

Half-way through the first listen, he's already ready to tear them down and build them back up again. They're not bad, but they could've been so much better with a little tweaking. Or maybe a little _less_ tweaking. Nick's voice is growly and raw and the music isn't quite stripped enough for Patrick's taste. _Do I Have To Cry For You_ is easily his favourite. Nick's voice just soars above the music, perfectly matched with it, nothing interfering.

All the songs are pretty straightforward, Nick's clearly a novice lyricist, but Patrick can work with that. Musically, apart from being a bit overproduced, they're all different takes on rock-pop, with suggests that Nick knows his comfort zone, but is open to different ideas. The vocals - the vocals will be Nick's department and Patrick is going to learn a lot from him. He's also going to have _fun_ just pushing him to go all-fucking-out.

After three listens, he loads up the other songs, just to see what other people got Nick to do, (and to keep listening to that _voice_) while waiting for the new stuff to arrive.

* * * * * *

"Um, so the first one might actually be good. I couldn't tell behind all the sloppy playing." Is Patrick's considered opinion. Nick holds his breath. "The second is a little too radio-friendly for my taste but we could rough it up some. Also, you're a shit bass player."

"Oh, fuck you." Nick says into the phone, but he's laughing. "So you think I'm worth your time, dude?"

"We're back on tour tomorrow," Patrick says, sounding tentative.

"We have an album dropping in less than two months." He counters. His time for doing this normally is up.

"Huh."

"You know dawg, you can tell me it sucks. Wouldn't be the first, definitely ain't gonna be the last."

"Did... did you just c-call me dawg?" Patrick sounds like he's choking, he's laughing so hard.

"Ok, look..." Nick is starting to get annoyed now.

"No, no, it's fine." He's still snickering. "Man, I don't even think _Jay-Z_ calls me dawg."

"Different worlds, man." Nick stares at the pattern on his rug. Maybe this really wasn't going to work. Because _different worlds_ barely covers it.

"Yeah, no kidding." But Patrick has moved on now. "Okay, so, give me like... a week, week and a half. I'll fix the music on track one, which we need a title for before Pete hears it by accident and assigns it something stupid that will get stuck in my head, and send it back to you. You can fix the vocal based on that?"

"If you fix it right." And maybe he's being a bit of an asshole, challenging someone who's doing him a favour, possibly a life-saving one at that, but Nick's never _not_ had to prove he knows what he's doing, when it was just him.

"I aim to please." There's a definite edge to Patrick's voice, but not so much like he's pissed as like maybe he likes rising to a challenge.

"Cool. I'll be checking my email."

"Later, dude."

Patrick's first effort arrives in Nick's inbox four days later.

* * * * * *

Nick listens to Patrick's track a few times before he really decides what he thinks. Once, straight off the computer into his headphones. Another time in the bathroom, which okay, is good for vocals but possibly not as good for fast guitars and crashing drums. He's never had instruments in the bathroom... except the acoustic a couple of times but not for very long because hey, humidity and wood... but it's good to know. He makes a CD out of it and pops it in the stereo, to hear what it sounds like out of really decent speakers. After he's played with the EQ a few times, he's ready to actually think about what Patrick's done.

What Patrick has done is taken the basic melody, and completely rewritten the arrangement. There's piano in the bridge, and if Nick's instincts are right, his vocal starts the song about three bars before anything comes in to accompany it. Which might work if he brought it down real low and intimate, right into the mic.... He sketches out notes on his tablet - Nick's shorthand has a lot more to do with pictures and notes than actual words, so he's learned to just skip the damned keyboard.

Eventually he calls up the lyrics. They scan almost perfectly, but to do what Nick wants to do with the bridge now, he'll have to rewrite it. Maybe switch that line there with that phrase over there and...

Three decent takes later, he's pretty happy with what he's got and fires it off to Patrick. When he looks up from the laptop, the sun is coming up, and Nick's stomach is making noises like he hasn't eaten in a while. He bounces into the kitchen to rustle something up, humming to himself.

* * * * * *

Patrick has holed himself up in the back of the bus, tinkering. Nick's second track is good for a raw demo, a huge improvement on the mess that was the first one. That actually makes it harder to fix. There are things here he wants to keep. He deleted the bass line immediately, because even if all he does is replay what Nick had tried to do, that'll be a huge improvement. He'd like to hear what Nick does with a really bitching bass line but maybe not with this song. (And frankly if he needs a really bitching bass line, he'll have to grab someone else to lay it down. Patrick's good, but he's not an expert.)

His biggest problem is either the drums or the song structure. He's not really sure. He glances at the clock - half an hour to soundcheck. Nick's likely to be awake, right? It takes a moment to find his phone in the mess on the various surfaces, but soon he's punching in numbers and waiting for Nick to pick up.

"Yo?" Nick sounds fuzzy, maybe not quite awake. Oh well, he's up now.

"Hey Nick, it's Patrick." He says, trying to sound up-and-at-em authoritative. Or at least 'wake up, this is important'.

"Heyyyy." It's drawn out in a yawn. "Sorry, pulled an all-nighter. What's up?"

"The second song. How married are you to the structure?"

"The structure?" There's movement at the other end. It sounds purposeful, but the confusion in Nick's voice doesn't help Patrick any.

"Yeah." And okay, he's venturing into bitchy now. Maybe he should reign it in. Later. "Like, how would you feel if I broke up verse three, made half of it part of the chorus and half of it just a fade-out at the end?"

"Dude, remind me what song I sent you and I'll be right there."

"File name is "Death to Howies cellphone" which I hope means something to you, because it has fuck all to do with this song."

Nick chuckles into the phone and okay, maybe Patrick can relax a little bit. Who couldn't with that in their ear?

"Oh man. Yeah, there's a story there. Okay. Um, so you want to break up the third verse... how exactly? I mean, if I was going to do it, I'd like, take the first and third lines and pair them with the first and third choruses, but not..."

"...not the one that goes into the bridge. No, I agree, that would totally fuck things up. And I sort of want to kill the fourth line all together."

"Yeah, it's kind of weak. But it's important to like, the idea of the song."

"Title?"

"Could be. I'll think about it." There's an odd tapping sound at the end of the phone. "Hey, have you listened to the first track yet?"

"No, not yet." Patrick admits, glancing at his inbox. "I kind of wanted to fix things first."

"That's cool. I wanted to say, that was kind of awesome, the intro arrangement. I wouldn't have thought of it, but it totally works."

And Patrick can just feel himself going red. "Thanks man. I just... this is your solo album. I wanted to show off your voice."

"My voice ain't nothing special, but I appreciate it. So is that all you're going to do to this baby?"

"No..." Patrick studies his screen. "But I wanted to run that change by you. Now I have to plug it in, see if it works the way I think it will."

"You've got my number dawg..." Patrick can't help it, he snorts. "..._dude_. Whatever. I'm pretty free this week still, so whenever you want to call."

"Got it." He's half into his studio headspace already so it takes him a second to register what Nick's actually said. "Oh hey. If you can get a copy of your schedule, send it my way, okay? At some point I'm going to need you here in person."

"Yeah because our schedule's not going to change every other hour once they get something finalized. But I'll send it along. If nothing else it'll make Howie happy that I'm paying attention."

"Uh huh." Patrick's moving this section here and that section there and he doesn't realize he hasn't hung up until Nick laughs softly.

"Genius at work, huh? Okay. Keep geniusing. Later dude."

* * * * * *

The easy thing would have been to tell Johnny first. Just drop him an email with the dates he and Patrick have come up with, asking to have one run of three days off, hopefully as close to the beginning of October as possible, so he doesn't screw with the promo schedule too badly. But Nick took the easy way with his first album and that blew up in his face, so instead, he gets up early and calls Brian.

Brian's phone rings three times before it's picked up. Nick hears air and possibly traffic before the phone clatters against something. There's a giggle, and Brian's voice calm in the background. Finally, after a little scuffling, an enthusiastic voice says "Hi Unca Nick!"

Nick tries hard not to laugh, he really does. "Hi Baylee!" He answers his sort-of nephew. "Are you answering the phone for Daddy today?"

"Yes!" Baylee declares. "Daddy's not 'lowed to talk on the phone when he's driving."

"No, of course not," Nick agrees solemnly. "He might cause an accident. You're a good guy to help your Daddy out like that."

"Uh huh."

"So where are you and Daddy going today?"

"School!" Nick has to sit down. Because of course Baylee's going to school, he's nearly _five_. Which means he won't be coming on tour much, which means Brian's going to be missing more than just Kevin this tour. Crap.

"Yeah?" he manages to continue the conversation. "You like school?"

"Uh huh."

"Making lots of friends?"

"Uh huh. Oh! We're here! Bye!" There's another clatter as the phone is dropped. Brian rescues it.

"Nick?" He says, amused. "I'll call you back in twenty."

* * * * * *

"You want to take three days out of our schedule so you can go hang out on someone else's bus?" Brian summarizes, once he's heard Nick out. "You think you're gonna need the practice, Frack?"

"Hey, unlike somebody in this conversation I haven't been on tour in... more than a year." Nick leans against his kitchen counter, scratching idly at something that might have been jam.

"Seems longer, don't it?"

"Oh yeah," And okay he's a dork, but Nick can't quite keep the wistful tone out of his voice. He grew up on the road, he's allowed to miss it.

"Is this guy.. what's his name, Patrick? Worth it? You can't just book some studio time?"

"With who?" Nick pushes off from the counter, needing to pace. "I'm not flying over to Sweden, yo. I love Max but I can't go running to him every time I need some help in the studio. Besides, I can't afford him."

"You... what?"

And isn't that a kick in the guts. "I thought everybody knew, man."

"No." Brian gives the one syllable a lot of weight and Nick knows he has to cut him off before Brian decides to make a Phone Call.

"Patrick's great. We've got a couple of songs together already, but it'll be easier to do some work in person. And he's not just some dude. He's like... a prod... prog... genius. He's produced like, four or five albums already, plus the stuff he does for his own group."

Nick can still hear Brian thinking. "Frick. Lemme have this. Just... I know I'm not some hotshot writer, and the album won't come out until after we're done touring anyway, but... it's been a tough summer. Patrick's got my back, I swear."

"You'll remember to dress warm, and eat right?" Nick rolls his shoulders, letting the tension fall away.

"Sure, Dad. Will you talk to Howie for me? I'll email Johnny and talk to Aje."

"Sure, leave me with the hard job." Brian teases.

"Hey, you're the grown-up." He shoots back.

"Don't remind me."

"So Baylee's in school, now?"

"I can still kick your ass, Nickolas!" Nick cackles, then settles in for a long update on the state of the (first) Backstreet Baby.

* * * * * *

Patrick manages to keep the whole thing from Pete for like two weeks, which has to be some kind of record. It might have something to do with the fact that Patrick isn't actively keeping it a secret. He knows Pete is going to tease him forever about it, and usually he just tells Pete to get the teasing over with, but he's just too busy working on Nick's album to actually talk about it.

But one afternoon Pete grabs him as they finish soundcheck. "I haven't seen you in like, a week, dude. Come walk Hemmy with me."

"I'm pretty sure that was you staring at me all through _Me and You_ last night." He offers as token protest, but puts his guitar away amiably enough.

"Shut up, Lunchbox. There has been no quality hanging out, PeteandPatrick time in way too long. My dog misses you." And Pete is right in his face when Patrick straightens up, so apparently it's going to be one of _those_ afternoons. Sure enough, Pete drops a kiss on his cheek, and then grabs his hands, pulling and walking backwards. Patrick rolls his eyes, to remind Pete that _normal people_ do not pull this sort of shit, but it's token and Pete knows it. If he was normal he wouldn't be Pete, and then where would Patrick be?

They (meaning Pete) manage to finagle their way away from the arena and out to a local park, the new security guy trailing behind them. If it was Charlie, he'd probably be right there in the middle of the conversation, but it's not Charlie anymore and that's kind of weird. Patrick makes a note to ask Nick if there's some sort of etiquette for dealing with strangers who are in charge of your security. Nick has apparently never been on a tour where pretty much everyone involved is someone you grew up with, so he knows that sort of thing.

"So," Pete says, bumping his hip. "I hear you're holed up in your bedroom all hours. I know the Starship record's pretty much done - what gives?"

"Do you get like, daily reports from Andy?" It's an old joke, but he makes it because he likes to hear Pete's answer.

"Nah, hourly." Pete smiles at him, but his eyes are serious. "New girlfriend?"

Patrick ducks his head, shakes it. "New project."

"Yeah? Am I forgetting something I hooked you up with? Being a shitty mogul again? Or did you pick this one up by yourself?"

"This one's mine, mostly." He has to grin. "But it's sort of your fault, so don't yell at me."

"He's going out and getting his own projects! My baby boy is all grown up!" Pete's voice raises dramatically and his arms are going and okay, people are looking now and Patrick's not ready to be interrupted.

"Shut up, fucker." He grabs at Pete's hand, interlaces their fingers. "Hemmy needs his walk."

"Whatever. Like, deny me my moment. Fucker." But he doesn't let go of Patrick's hand either. "So, like, who is it? Who could be so terrible I'd yell? You're not producing for like, The Killers, are you? Because that would be awesome."

"It's, uh, Nick Carter."

Pete stops dead, and ow, that's Patrick's wrist. "Nick Carter?" Pete's blinking at him, kind of stunned, and okay this is sort of fun, "Like, the _Backstreet Boy_?"

"You know any other Nick Carters?"

"I was kind of hoping you might." Hemingway comes back to investigate the cause of the interruption and Patrick crouches to scratch behind his ears.

"Like I said, your fault, Pete. If you hadn't decided it was the best idea ever to freak out Spencer..."

"Fuck off, that _was_ the best idea ever. The look on his face... and _Brendon_." Pete crows. "Seriously, Panic is never going to live this down and I have it on video. Ryan Ross is mine forever."

"Yeah well. As a result of your "best idea ever", I got talking to the guy. He's working on his second solo album, and I said I'd help him out."

"For real? You're not just saying this to give me a heart attack?" Pete cocks his head to the side, studying him.

"Fuck you. You've got to admit he was good that night."

"Yeah, but your level?" Pete's confidence in Patrick's musical genius is never ending and Patrick loves him for it, as much as he takes it with a huge grain of salt. "He's a Backstreet Boy."

"If you're about to call me a sell-out, Wentz, this conversation ends now." Because really, of all the people to know there's more behind someone than what the press puts out...

Fortunately, Pete does get this. "No! Fuck, no, Patrick. I mean, you say he's good enough to work with you, I'll trust your judgement. But wow. You gotta admit it's a little freaky."

"Yeah well. It's gonna get freakier when he's on tour with us for three days week after next."

"Wait, WHAT?" Patrick bites back a laugh. If he'd known working with Nick would get him that look on Pete's face, he might have told Pete days ago.

* * * * * *

Once there's an actual date that Nick is going to join the tour, things between them get a lot more relaxed. Nick dumps a full ten tracks of material in Patrick's lap, and laughs when Patrick grumbles about slave labour. Meanwhile, their phone calls actually wander off topic once in a while. Still mainly about music, but Patrick doesn't feel he has to be professional and hold back in his geeking over Bowie anymore.

He and Nick spend about an hour singing classic Michael Jackson tracks back and forth to each other, which leads to Nick talking about going with his younger brother so he could record at Michael's house. Patrick's somewhat inappropriate comment about parents who let underage children visit Neverland clearly strikes a nerve with Nick, who responds with "Yeah, well my parents never won any prizes for model parenting, that's for sure."

The bitterness dripping from that one sentence makes it easy for Patrick to talk about his own parents, (and, incidentally, to arrange one of Nick's almost cryptic songs a little more effectively) and then his high school years. It's a topic they come back to a couple of times over the month - Nick has an odd penchant for stories about real high school.

"I'd probably've ended up pretty much like you, dude." He reveals one afternoon while Patrick is waiting for some photographer to get their shit together. "'Cept an art geek instead of music."

"You?" Patrick tries to picture it and fails utterly. "Not like, the football team? Or basketball or something?"

"Nah. I mean, maybe somebody would've talked me into something, but back then it was all video games and drawing comic books. My sport was swimming, but I dunno if I'd race or anything. Scuba's more my thing."

"Yeah? With dolphins and shit?" Which sets Nick off on one of his favourite topics - the water. He can and does go on for _hours_. One day, after looking over one too many of Nick's attempts at love songs, Patrick eventually asks him why he hasn't written any songs about it.

"You think I should, dawg?" It's at least the hundredth time he's used that term and it's _still_ funny. "Oh fuck you, Stump."

"Sorry, sorry. But yeah. I mean, you feel pretty strongly about it, you've got lots to say. Think about it, maybe when you're here we can work on something."

"That'd be cool. Yeah, maybe." Patrick can hear him nodding. It's just adding to their workload in the very few hours they're realistically going to have together, even if one of those days is a day off for Patrick, but he finds himself looking forward to it.

* * * * * *

Less than a week before Nick arrives, they finally start talking in practicals. "So where am I sleeping, dude? Is there room for me, or am I gonna be sleeping on the floor of the bus, get stepped on every morning?"

One of Andy's friends is bunking with Pete and Joe for the duration, poor sap, so there is a bunk free, but Patrick's still sort of dubious about the arrangement.

"Do you even fit in a bunk?" He asks skeptically. In theory, he knows William is taller than Nick, and he must find some way to fit in a bunk, but Nick doesn't strike Patrick as quite so bendy as William. Of course Patrick's never met anyone as bendy as William Beckett. The point is, Nick is a big, solid guy, and bunks are a tiny, confining space.

"Oh shut up, Yoda." This is Nick's new nickname for Patrick. Patrick hasn't quite decided if he likes it yet, and makes a token noise of protest. "I was living on a bus when you were, like, ten. I am an _expert_ at bus-life, yo."

Again, something Patrick knows, sort of, but no matter how many times he has to explain something totally normal about high school to Nick, it doesn't seem real. Patrick spent plenty of time in cruddy vans during high school, but not so much that he actually missed high school altogether. Nick's been living, well, a similar life to this one, for a lot longer than even Pete has. He makes another vague listening noise, and snuggles deeper into the large bed he'd been very thankful to score when he and Andy got a separate bus.

"Is there anything you need me to pick up?" It's an off-hand comment, but sort of sweet. Actually it reminds Patrick of something his mom might ask. He tries to ignore that thought.

"Um... if you have a favourite bus board game, we're starting to get bored already."

"Board games were never really our thing..." Nick's version of a thinking noise slides into Patrick's ear. He's falling asleep, there's no doubt about it, and he should really hang up. Soon. "Dominoes?"

"Sounds good." He can't quite suppress a yawn.

"You're falling asleep on me, huh?" Nick sounds almost fond.

"Long day." Patrick admits. This isn't the first post-concert chat they've had, but usually it's an urgent conversation about music and Patrick's a lot more focused. Today there was a hell of a lot of press, and a photoshoot involving a trampoline of all things, and since Nick's going to be there in like, three days, he doesn't feel too guilty about wimping out tonight.

"I'll quit bugging you then. Can't have my producer losing out on his sleep."

"See you in..." Patrick isn't quite sure what city he's in now, much less where he's going to be in three days.

"Seattle. 'Night Patrick. If you dream up _Yesterday_ I want dibs."

"Mmmm, sorry dude. Pete's got first rights."

Nick's soft laughter follows him down into sleep.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nick's first day on the Fall Out Boy tour. (Yes, technically speaking they should be in Australia or something in early October, but they're in Seattle. Work with me, people. Also, the really random bit of crossover in this chapter? Is actual canon. I would not make this stuff up. W.T.F.)

When Patrick wakes up, he finds that the lounge is already occupied. Someone dressed in a blue hoodie and dark jeans is curled up sideways on the seat with a sketchbook and an iPod, making rapid strokes with a pencil. The shoulders are too broad to be Pete, forget that it would be spiky words in a notebook, not soft lines on heavy paper. Patrick pours himself a coffee and joins the stranger. The headphones come off, the head comes up and... oh.

"Hey." Nick says, his smile slow and quiet, but still bright as sunrise. "Didn't want to wake you."

"You didn't. What's that?"

Nick ducks his head and tucks into himself a little more and Jesus, no wonder he can fit in a bunk if he can make himself practically _disappear_ like that. For a moment Patrick thinks he's crossed a line already, broken an unspoken rule. Then Nick turns the book to face him.

Nick's got a guarded look to him, so Patrick treats it with care. He puts down his coffee and takes the book gingerly, with both hands. The sketch is unfinished, but the subject matter is pretty obvious. It's a marine landscape, with seagulls in the air and a pelican perched on a branch sticking out of the water. He flips back to find dolphins, islands, (the Keys?), a fishing boat, and one submarine sketch populated with coral, seaweed and various fish-type lifeforms.

"Cool." It's about as expressive as Patrick can get without a full cup of coffee in him. Nick nods his acknowledgement and takes it back.

"I just..." He shrugs. "I'm no good with words, not about this, man. I went out on the boat last weekend for a few hours with a mic." He taps his headphones. "Got like, a nature sounds track."

This is new and familiar at the same time. "Wait here." Patrick scrambles up and goes back to his bedroom. It looks like Andy's already up and out somewhere. He grabs his little voice recorder, sticks it in the pocket of his hoodie and turns it on.

Nick has gone back to his sketch, but he looks less immersed in it than he was when Patrick first got up. Patrick tops up his coffee and settles back down next to him, Nick's toes against his thigh. "Tell me about it."

"About what?"

"What it means to you, out there. Chicago's not totally landlocked or anything, but I didn't grow up around boats and stuff like you did."

"It's..." Nick's head goes back against the wall. Patrick watches the shadows and light from the window play across his face. "God, it's... everything. I could live out there, you know? Doesn't matter what I feel like when I cast off from the marina, by the time I'm out there on my own, with the sun and the wind and the boat rocking under me... Nothing else matters, you know?"

Patrick doesn't exactly, but he can see it in Nick's face. He makes an encouraging noise and lets Nick talk. By the time he's ready for breakfast, he's got enough to start with. He turns off the recorder and lays it on the table. Nick stares.

"You... asshole genius." He laughs. "You want a copy of my nature sounds, too?"

"Wouldn't hurt. We'll get you set up on the iPod network later." Patrick stands and starts the search for footwear.

"Cool. Breakfast?"

"That's the plan."

"I'm buying."

Nick's arm is heavy and warm around Patrick's shoulders as they wander away from the bus in search of food. Patrick considers visiting the other bus to see who's up, but a quick check of his watch confirms it's only 10:30, and it's in his and Nick's best interests to keep all his bandmates in a good mood today.

Which reminds him. "Hey, did you meet Andy?"

"He didn't introduce himself, but he did give me a quick run-down of the bus rules." Nick squints at him. "You never said you were a vegetarian."

"Why? You have some sort of bias against working with vegetarians?"

"No, but it does mean we can't get seafood tonight."

"I can't. I don't care what Andy told you, you don't have to go veggie the whole time you're here." Andy isn't usually militant about his veganism, but possibly when confronted with a stranger at ass o'clock he might have gone off.

"Yeah, but there's this great little place I know up here. I was going to drag you to it post-show, but I don't think they serve anything that isn't dead animal." Is Nick... Nick is pouting at him.

"You haven't even been here half an hour and you're pulling diva fits on me? That's cold, man." Patrick is suddenly glad that Nick's a tall fucker, or he might have given in to the urge to pet him. He's fairly sure it's too early in their working relationship for that.

"Hey, I got here two hours ago, asshole. I was just nice enough to let you have your beauty sleep." Nick swoops down to deliver a noisy, wet kiss on Patrick's cheek.

"Oh. Well, then, by all means. Diva away." Clearly working with Pete for six years has allowed Patrick's mouth to develop some kind of auto-pilot in this sort of situation. Also, Nick's rules for physical contact in a working relationship are different than Patrick's. Huh.

"I will. Where's the damn exit, anyway? Food is out there waiting for us."

"Let's find the entrance." Patrick suggests, deciding to ignore the incident for the moment. Sometimes it works with Pete. "Someone in the production office usually has a map."

"Right, right." They find a door propped open and duck inside to investigate.

"Hey, there's our security guy..." And Patrick is blanking on his name again. It's been three months, he really shouldn't be this bad...

"Marcus?" Nick lets go of Patrick completely. Marcus, which is actually the guy's name, looks up. "Holy crap!"

For a big guy, Nick Carter can move incredibly fast. Also, Marcus doesn't even stagger when attacked by approximately two hundred pounds of enthusiastic Backstreet Boy, which is a good thing to know.

"Hey dude!" Nick says after untangling himself. "Johnny told us we couldn't have you for the new tour. He didn't say you'd be here!"

"I didn't want you crazy people stalking me, Carter." Marcus tells him. "And then I checked the visitor list last night and your name showed up. What the hell, man?"

"I'm working with Patrick. New solo album." Nick explains. "Hey, if you're here... can I go out and watch the show from the front?"

The big man shakes his head, but looks amused. "You live to give me heart attacks."

"Aw, I wouldn't if it wasn't you. I trust you, man. You're a lifesaver." He bounces a little on the soles of his feet. "Hey, Patrick! Has Marcus saved your life yet?"

"Hey, I behave myself." Patrick protests. "We keep him around to save Pete from rabid fans." Or possibly to save the fans from Pete. It's hard to tell the difference sometimes.

"You don't have rabid fans?" Nick cocks his head, looking a bit like a confused puppy. "That ain't right. Guy like you's gotta have plenty."

"Oh he does." Marcus assures him with a tone of long-suffering. "He just doesn't go off the stage to meet any of them like some crazy dudes I could mention."

Nick just grins. "Hey, admit it man, you miss me."

"I'll say this much for Pete - he's lighter. Crazier, but lighter."

From the fond look on Marcus' face, it's clearly an innocent comment, but the light goes out of Nick immediately. "Yeah. Hey, um. Have you had breakfast? Patrick and I need to find food."

Marcus suggests a place about a block away, and calls one of the other security guards to shadow them. Usually Patrick sneaks out without, but he's suddenly aware he's with a bonafide teen idol and maybe security's a good idea. Nick pulls up the hood of his hoodie as they leave the arena.

Patrick sort of wants to ask what was up with that last part of the conversation, but even if Nick has no apparent physical boundaries (as demonstrated by the fact that his hand is back on Patrick's shoulder, relocated there from on top of Patrick's hat after some swatting), he does seem to have a few conversational boundaries. Patrick lets it go for the moment, but when Nick tries to get away with ordering just fruit for breakfast, he rolls his eyes and throws sweetener packets at him until he changes his order.

* * * * * *

For all that Nick spends most of his time on Patrick's bus that day, it sure doesn't feel like being on tour. It feels a hell of a lot like being in studio. Except, there's a bed in the recording area.

"How do you sleep in here?" Nick demands. "There's so much stuff! Aren't you paranoid something's going to like, fall over and brain you in your sleep?"

"Hmm?" Patrick looks around at the chaos as if he's never seen it before. "Hasn't yet. Everything's pretty well attached."

They've discussed tracks over the phone a lot, but doing it in person is different, better. In person, he gets to lean over Patrick's shoulder and jab a finger at the computer screen. He gets to watch Patrick get red in the face and flail his arms a little when they're arguing. He gets to see Patrick go from considering to really fucking intensely focused when he decides to make a change, or play around with some suggestion so he can hear what Nick's talking about. Nick likes intensity. It's sexy.

That's sort of a side note in his brain though, because they're too busy working to really flirt. The best thing about being here in person is the sense that Patrick gets it, that they're partners in crime, or some shit like that, is fucking quadrupled. Patrick's kind of deadpan on the phone a lot, although Nick's gotten used to figuring him out. In person, he can really see that Patrick likes what they're doing, that he's not just being professional about it, he really thinks Nick's got something here. Not only that, Patrick seems to think Nick can do even better. It's pretty cool.

"And seriously, I'm not sure I can even work on this one with you until you completely rewrite the lyrics, because you're rhyming girl with girl, dude. I can't even begin to tell you how totally awesome that is not...What?"

"I didn't say anything." When you're caught staring, act innocent.

"True, but you're _grinning_ at me." Patrick says, edging away a little. "I haven't survived on tours this long without knowing that grinning like that is usually bad."

"Aw. You're my favourite producer in the whole wide world, dawg." Nick tackles Patrick into a bearhug. The noise Patrick makes is part "oof!" and part giggle.

"Okay, okay." Patrick says, when Nick lets up enough to let him breathe. "I know this mood. It's time for a break. Let's see what catering's got for lunch, and then I'll introduce you to Gym Class Heroes. You can tell them how much you love me for this album and they can tell you how much they love me for their album. I'll have my own fanclub. It'll be great."

Nick gets all the way off Patrick and checks his watch. "Back to work after soundcheck?" He has actually looked at the call sheet.

"Soundcheck isn't until... oh. Yeah, I guess so." Patrick blinks at the time before shutting down his laptop.

"Great. Lead the way, oh most genius producer."

* * * * * *

Pete is late to soundcheck, delayed by some journalist or other who had shown up late enough that Pete had almost refused to speak with her. Everyone's ready, Andy fiddling with his kit, Joe picking out a tune as he paces. Patrick's done about seven mic checks, just straight "Check, one, two... sibiliance" and there's something funky going on with his monitors, but he can't quantify it without hearing everyone else play. Nick has settled himself at the front of the stage, his long legs dangling, body half turned to watch Patrick.

"Why couldn't you be a bass player?" Patrick grumps at him.

"Sorry dude." His body language is apologetic, but his blue eyes snap with laughter. "Drums or rhythm. Lead if you don't need me to be awesome. Does Andy play bass?"

"No!" Andy protests from the back, whether objecting to the idea of playing bass or just someone else playing his drums, Patrick can't tell.

"You play bass, Patrick." Joe drawls out, apparently in the role of Captain Obvious this afternoon.

"I also play trombone. How exactly does this help right now?" He bitches.

"Um," Nick volunteers, hauling himself up. "I play rhythm. Gimme."

Patrick backs away instinctively. Nick sticks his hands in his pockets.

"Do you even know any of our stuff?"

"I can do _Thanks for the Memories_." Nick shrugs. "Or you could just wait for Pete. It's been half an hour already, I'm sure she couldn't keep him too much longer."

Patrick rolls his eyes and concedes, handing off his instrument. "One song."

"Gotcha. Oh for..." Nick wrestles with the strap, eventually settling things so he isn't being strangled. He takes Pete's place. "Hey," Now he's talking to their FOH. "Does it help any if I check the mic?"

"Knock yourself out," comes the reply through the monitors. Patrick hears the hum that means Pete's mic is open.

Nick strums experimentally a few times, getting a feel for Patrick's instrument, then looks over at Andy. He nods along with the count and starts into it.

Patrick counts an extra bar or two to settle himself before starting into the vocals. He's thinking a little more than usual, not relying on muscle memory nearly as much as he would be with his guitar. This is maybe why he doesn't cotton on to the fact that Nick is doing the low harmony until "in case God doesn't show".

It's weird, but in a good way. Nick's good with the guitar, but definitely better on vocals, and it's fun to have someone to trade back and forth with, to look up and catch Nick's eye, put a little more attitude in it, challenge him. When they get to the drum break, Nick moves over to Patrick's mic and they finish the song like that, singing right in each other's space.

Joe hits the last chord and Nick is grinning down at him. Patrick grins right back, giddy. They stand there in silence for a second until a dry cough breaks the moment. "Gone half an hour and you fuckers are looking for a replacement."

"Yeah, yeah." Patrick turns away to roll his eyes at Pete. "Here, have your bass back, asshole."

"Figure out what's wrong with your monitors yet?" A tech asks. Patrick can honestly say he wasn't paying any attention whatsoever to the monitors.

Nick grabs a bottle of water and resumes his place on the edge of the stage. "C'mon Wentz. I've heard so much about your legendary stage presence. Entertain me."

"I think Patrick's doing most of the entertaining today," Pete shoots back. Patrick ducks his head. Pete's letting off steam, he's being pointed, not mean, but it still hits the mark. He is playing up to Nick, at least a little. Hopefully it's rolling right by him.

When he glances at Nick again, Nick makes a face and winks at him. Okay, possibly not _right_ by him. But maybe that's not a bad thing after all.

* * * * * *

After sort of crashing soundcheck, Nick gets even more buzzed about seeing the actual concert. He manages not to let it distract him too much in the hours between soundcheck and when Patrick decides to move backstage.

However, once they arrive backstage, Nick risks getting lost in order to hunt down Marcus. Marcus groans when he sees Nick coming. It's possible Marcus has known him a little too long.

"Nick, I don't care how good you promise to be, you're staying backstage."

"But Marcus..." Reverting to his teenage whining habits only really happens around people who knew him as a teenager, which doesn't make them any less embarrassing.

"No. With my luck, Pete will take a flying leap to go crowd surfing, kick you in the head, and I'll have to choose which one of you dies."

"I could..."

"If I let you out front, you would not be anywhere I couldn't reach out and grab you, which puts you right where Pete could and probably would kick you in the head, so don't even talk to me, Carter."

Whining is clearly not going to work. Instead, Nick pulls out his phone. He isn't actually getting any bars inside the arena, but it's not like he couldn't walk out to the buses. "So, I was thinking that AJ hasn't heard the latest news."

Marcus stills. "You are a sneaky little mofo."

"I practice." Nick bares his teeth. The first opener hasn't even gone onstage yet, AJ could totally find a flight and be here before Marcus is contractually allowed to go anywhere else. Nick is pretty sure Marcus could do his job with AJ surgically attached to him, but Fall Out Boy probably wouldn't appreciate that. Also, Brian would probably raise hell if AJ defected before their tour.

"Have a heart, man. I really do not think I could survive having you that close to a mob of teenage girls for an entire concert."

Ok, so it's not necessarily Nick's idea of a good time, either, even if the Backstreet fans are a lot less teenage these days. It would probably give him flashbacks. "Just the first few songs."

"You'll follow everything I say?"

"I'll be an angel."

"I'm going to regret this..."

"Thanks!" Nick pounces just long enough to kiss and run. It takes him less time than he would have thought to relocate Patrick. Maybe he's played in this place before?

* * * * * *

All the bands on the tour seem fairly nice, and nod greetings when Patrick introduces him around. ("Hey guys, this is Nick, Nick this is... " not being maybe the most informative introduction Patrick could give, but Nick appreciates that he doesn't have to defend himself to anyone.) But as he's listening to them talk and joke, he edges closer and closer to Patrick. It's more than the idea that this scene is not his scene. It's the overwhelming feeling that man, he's _old_.

He's used to teasing Patrick about how much more road experience or time in the music business he has over Patrick, but this is just... weird. A lot of them are Patrick's age, and compared to Patrick they're just starting out. At Patrick's age, Nick had four albums, a Greatest Hits record and his first solo album under his belt, not to mention years and years of hard touring, contract negotiations and personal meltdowns (for him and all of his friends). And there's a little deja vu there too, of being the person in the room that no one would listen to if he spoke up with a little advice. Except this time it's not because he's underage or barely legal, it's because most of them genuinely have no clue who he is.

When a debate starts up about what precisely makes a sellout, Nick must make some sound, or maybe his hold on Patrick tightens a little, because Patrick looks up at him. His expression goes from mild interest to sympathy pretty quickly, and he leads the way out to the Fall Out Boy dressing room.

"They mean well," Patrick says, although Nick can tell he's not one hundred percent sure what's gotten under Nick's skin.

"That's... yeah. Just tell me I'm too young to retire."

Patrick laughs at him. "You're younger than Pete, and he's still going."

Nick flops down onto a couch. "Yeah, that's really reassuring, thanks Yoda."

"Retire you cannot," Pete opines from a corner. "Cry, teenage girls would."

Nick and Patrick exchange looks. "Don't encourage him," Patrick advises, but Nick's gone already, giggling helplessly into a cushion.

When the fit passes, he manages to rouse himself long enough to find the drinks. He debates over a Coke and a Red Bull, knowing that without something in his system he's not going to be able to stay up with Patrick while the stage adrenaline wears off. Really, caffeine and sugar is an old standby and he goes with that, snagging a water as well and absently wondering if there's any chance at Pixy Stix.

Pete is on the phone, Joe and Andy are in the middle of a wickedly vicious video game competition, being cheered on by various people, and Patrick is noodling on a guitar. It's no wonder the guy's a brilliant producer, he never seems to do anything that doesn't involve music. Nick watches him, content to be the outsider to this smaller group. It's not _his_ group after all, he should be the outsider here.

He watches as "killing time" gives way to pre-show ritual. Patrick starts first, bringing out the facial thing that he's already warned Nick about. It's mildly weirder than Howie's sacred tea, but the point is the same. Patrick's already in stage clothes, but Nick is soon treated to the sight of other half-naked guys wandering around. Andy's ink is seriously cool, a riot of colour that Nick wants to go up and study. When he brings out the practice pad and starts drumming, Nick finds a convenient spot to watch, fascinated. Patrick is wandering around singing show tunes and random R&amp;B stuff, and Nick doesn't even realize he's harmonizing until Patrick is practically singing in his ear. He looks amused, but says nothing, just keeps singing away.

Eventually, Marcus knocks on the door. He looks long-suffering already, so Nick just heads in his direction without comment. He makes sure his pass is visible, but still partially tucked inside his hoodie so no one can accidentally choke him. Along the corridors and up the stairs and woah, the crowd is _loud_. Marcus hands him earplugs without comment and ushers him into the space between the barricade and the stage.

Nick's impressions of the four songs he's allowed to stay out front for are jumbled and chaotic. Joe is a freakin' tornado out onstage. Andy's aggressive and contained and intense, a blur of arms and legs and wild hair. Pete is... Pete Wentz, and fuck if there's a better way to describe him. But Patrick... Safely out of Patrick's line of sight, and pretty sure Patrick is barely aware he's in the audience, Nick can let his inner fanboy out. Patrick has intensity and presence in spades, not to mention a voice Nick would kill for. He's not quite fourteen years old enough to think Patrick's sweat is sexy, he knows what that shit feels like, but it's more evidence that Patrick's putting his all into this and that is totally sexy.

Eventually Marcus shoves him backstage and Nick has to come down off the concert high enough that the techs don't look at him funny while he watches the rest of the show. When he's thinking straight, the one thing that keeps going through his mind is "I have to share a bus with that? I am so dead."


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day two on the Fall Out Boy tour.

When Nick wakes up, he can feel the bus rumbling beneath him. With the curtain closed, he can almost believe that the guys are just a holler away. Then Andy says something to one of his friends, and the moment's gone.

He takes a second to think about the situation. So. Two more days on tour with people he doesn't so much fit in with, working on a record that, to be honest, may never get off the ground, no matter how stellar Patrick's producing talents are, because the label has A Point to Make. Let's not forget with a quickly developing crush on his producer, who is a really nice guy but who hasn't actually given any indication that he's queer, much less attracted to Nick.

"Wonderful," he groans. Sometimes he has really, really stupid ideas.

However, one thing Nick has learned over the years is that he can't avoid the consequences of his stupid ideas. So he peeks out to make sure the corridor's clear before pushing out of his bunk to face the day.

* * * * * *

Mornings when the bus is still going, still moving towards their destination, can be excruciatingly boring. Patrick's not much for video games, and as much as he's tried to soundproof and stabilize everything, it affects the quality of his recordings if the studio and everything in it is moving. He could work on some beats, he's always got half a dozen or so on the backburner, never mind that he doesn't use them all and it's not as if there's ever a dearth of words from Pete that need to be reassembled into something resembling songs. But Nick's here, and something about the pre-show last night made Patrick feel as if Nick wasn't quite at ease around strangers or something. So, Patrick gets his shit together and ventures out into the bus proper.

Nick's up already, tucked into the same corner Patrick found him in yesterday. Andy and company are playing their current favourite video game, complete with swearing and energetic gesticulation that hasn't quite degenerated into violence yet. Nick's sort of an island of his own. He's staring out the window, maybe half-asleep, God only knows when the game woke him.

"Hey." Patrick greets him, sitting down next to him.

Nick looks over at him, his movements slow and heavy. He gives Patrick a small smile, his eyes at half mast. It's not cute at all, really. Nick stretches, moving from tiny ball to real boy for a moment before shrinking back in on himself, his feet now tucked under Patrick's thigh. "Mmm. Hey."

"Okay, is there like, the opposite version of that trick that I could learn?"

"Hmm?"

Patrick gestures at him. "Where you go all tiny like that. Is there a reverse?"

This wins him a laugh. "No, sorry. Otherwise I'm pretty sure Howie or Brian would have learned it."

"Damn." Patrick hasn't yet had his coffee, which is about the only excuse he can come up with for the next question. "So, how'd you learn it in the first place?"

For a moment, for just a second, fleeting enough that if Patrick wasn't looking right at Nick, he would have missed it, Nick goes completely rigid, like some sort of hard-shelled creature. The look on his face is dark and _old_. He hides it almost instantly, but Patrick knows what he saw. "Sometimes," Nick says in an even voice. "It was important that nobody notice me."

Joined the group at _twelve_, Patrick remembers. He finds himself hoping very hard that it wasn't a trick Nick had learned before that.

"We all had to learn to sleep just about anywhere, in the early days." Nick continues, grinning a little. "I have photographic evidence that Howie can sleep standing up."

"Neat trick. Pete's got me on video sleeping in a gutter. I have no memory of how I _got_ there, of course."

"Maybe the same way candy used to find its way into Howie's ears, nose and mouth when he was sleeping?" Nick suggests, with a mildly evil grin.

Patrick, who has woken more than once to having his face decorated, (and has perhaps decorated a face or two himself in his time) laughs in agreement. "It's possible." And this is sort of a fun game, so he tries another question.

"Do you remember the first time you heard yourself on the radio?"

"Oh man, yeah!" Nick lights up. "Best feeling ever. And it's the same with every new record."

"Still?" Patrick had hoped he wouldn't get sick of that particular thrill, but it really hasn't been all that long since Sugar came out, even though it feels like a couple of lifetimes ago.

"Definitely. We did an official debut of the new single, actually at the radio station, all of us knowing it was going to be on... and it was still fucking awesome." At some point Patrick is going to be sick of Nick's smiles, but probably not until after this visit is over. "We were complete dorks. There was hugging, of course."

Patrick nods sagely. Of course there was.

* * * * * *

It's not very helpful in terms of getting on with his album, but Nick is somewhat reassured that today is more of a "real tour" day. Most of the morning is spent on the road, watching the miles go by until Patrick gets up and starts playing "Do you remember?" Nick hasn't got Brian's awesome memory for dates, but that doesn't keep him from trading some good stories with Patrick. By unspoken agreement, they both avoid the real blackmail material about anyone else. It's one thing to let a friend know you're an idiot, it's another to rat out your bandmates.

This means that the answers to "the closest you've come to killing a bandmate" are skimpy on the details. It's still nice to know Nick's not the only teenager who came thisclose to murdering a bandmate, even if he suspects he had less reason than Patrick. Nick will admit he was sort of a brat. He's still sort of a brat, as he manages to prove by poking Patrick's thigh with his toes until Patrick swats at him. The fourteen-year-old from last night murmurs something about Patrick touching _him_ for once but Nick squashes him pretty fast.

"Breakfast" is a quick stop roadside for muffins and such. Nick toys with the idea of getting postcards for the guys. When Patrick doesn't look at him as if that's the weirdest thing he's ever heard, he picks out four and buys stamps. He'll mail them at the airport if he can't find anywhere else.

When they finally hit the venue, the tour manager passes out the day's schedule and Patrick groans.

"What's up?"

"Interview. Radio."

Nick's heard a couple of Patrick's rants about interviews, radio deejays and public speaking in general. He has a feeling there are a few more he hasn't heard yet. "Take your guitar," he suggests. "They always love the 'exclusive' shit." Also, Patrick acoustic is a fun treat.

Patrick considers. "Couldn't hurt. I'll check with Pete."

Instead of getting off the bus and knocking on Pete's bus like a normal person, Patrick locates his cell phone and dashes off a text message. There's a message waiting from Pete already.

"You got made, dude." Patrick laughs and shows Nick.

It's a very blurry photo of the space between the barrier and the stage. If Nick wasn't pretty sure Fall Out Boy hadn't had any other guests on tour recently, he wouldn't have identified the tall blue shape as himself.

"Wow." Nick peers at it some more, before handing it back to Patrick. "Mad photography skills."

"According to Pete, the internet is going nuts. He's had fifteen questions about you already."

"Questions?"

"There's like a q&amp;a on our official site. Pete answers a few every so often."

Nick reflects on the questions he's gotten from fans and reporters over the years and decides that Pete's even more nuts than he'd thought.

"Did you want to keep this quiet?"

Nick shrugs. "Nah. Everyone who needs to know already knows. The fans know I'm a rock guy, most of them won't think much of it. He can say what he wants, as long as he knows my guys will kick his ass if he steps outta line."

Patrick looks supremely unimpressed. Patrick has never seen Brian mad.

* * * * * *

The radio interview is just Pete and Patrick, but Pete's delighted with the idea that Patrick can kill some time by singing, so the guitar comes along, as does Nick. He wears a different hoodie as well as a baseball cap and Marcus sets him up with a spare walkie-talkie, so at first glance it just looks like Pete and Patrick are a little over-cautious with their personal security. It turns out to be a good idea, as there's a studio audience just on the other side of the glass, fans who have won contests.

The actual interview is pretty boring. Same old questions. It almost makes Patrick want to schedule new studio time and start on another record, just so they have a new batch of questions... or at least a new batch of answers for the standard questions. Maybe they should take a look at the schedule.

"So Patrick, I see you've got your guitar with you. You going to play something for us?" the deejay invites him.

"Oh, uh yeah." He picks up the guitar, fidgets with it for a moment.

"Pete, no bass?"

"No dude," Pete demurs. "I have an acoustic around somewhere but getting it out on short notice is sort of a hassle. This is Patrick's thing. He sits around before the show with a guitar, and if he's in the right mood you can get him to play pretty much anything."

"You take requests?"

"I also do birthdays and weddings." Patrick quips. "I was just going to do a bit of our latest single, _Me and You_"

"Oh come on now, you wrote the whole long title, you gotta *say* it." The deejay teases.

"Hey, blame him." Patrick nods at Pete.

"Hey now!" Pete protests. "Besides, doing the single is boring, it's what everyone expects."

"It's also what the guitar is tuned for."

"Yeah but... do something fun, dude. Bust out the Akon or something."

"Wait. Fall Out Boy covering Akon?" Well, that answers whether or not this is one of the more informed deejays. "That's definitely... special."

"Yeah, we did a cover of _Don't Matter_ on our last tour. "Pete explains. "And then Akon heard about it and covered _The Takeover, the Break's Over_. It was awesome."

Patrick swallows his opinion on how awesome or not the cover was, because the fact that Akon actually tried a Fall Out Boy track was pretty cool.

"Ok, now this I gotta hear."

Pete's grinning like the asshole he is and Patrick is well and truly cornered. "All right. A little."

"Do that medley thing," Pete suggests, pushing his luck.

"You know, it really is better promo if I play a song that we actually _wrote_." But he leaves his guitar against the desk and leans into the mic. Pete claps out the beat when he gets to the breakdown and moves into _Ignition_.

"Wow. Okay. that was Patrick Stump from Fall Out Boy covering Akon and R. Kelly, with Pete Wentz on percussion. You're a talented dude, there Pete."

Even though it's a joke, Pete's jaw tenses like it always does when he feels Patrick's talent is being overlooked. "Yeah, I do all the hard work. Patrick's just here to sit and look pretty."

They go into a commercial and the deejay explains they'll take fan questions next, do a wrap, and then there's a room where they can do a meet and greet. Patrick eyes his guitar. Not that he doesn't like meeting fans but...

Nick steps forward and goes about putting the guitar away. He mutters something about taking it back to the bus and disappears out of the studio.

"I didn't realize you'd brought a guitar tech with you as well." Pete says. "Diva!"

Patrick starts counting down the seconds until the interview's end.

After the fans are all safely gone, Marcus escorts Pete and Patrick out. Patrick wonders if there's some sort of rule that every radio station have at least one floor that's a total fucking maze. They round a corner and Pete nearly trips over Nick. He's sitting against the wall, eyes closed, cross-legged, with his iPod in his lap and noise-canceling headphones over his ears, Patrick's guitar case propped against the wall next to him. He's tapping out a beat and nodding his head.

Pete opens his mouth to cuss Nick out. Nick licks his lips, opens his mouth and starts singing, softly. It sounds weird, and it takes Patrick a moment to realize he's singing only parts of it. He exchanges a "what the fuck" look with Pete, and then Pete, never very patient for answers at the best of times, kicks Nick's thigh.

Nick startles and the iPod skids to the floor. "Ow!"

"Dude, what the fuck?"

Nick shoves the headphones down around his neck. "Shouldn't that be my line?" He rubs his thigh. "Seriously, Wentz, are those things steel-toed?"

"Uh, you are sitting in the middle of the hallway." Patrick points out. Not that he thinks Nick deserved it exactly, but really, what the fuck?

"Couldn't find a chair." Nick retrieves his iPod and climbs to his feet. "Back to the venue?"

"Yes, thank fuck. But answer the fucking question, Nicky."

Nick turns a Glare of Death on Pete, but already it's half-resigned. Either he's getting used to Pete much faster than most people or he's already got somebody who refuses to stop calling him Nicky. "What fucking question was that?"

"What. Were. You. Doing?"

"Oh. Just rehearsing. The guys would kick my ass if I didn't spend some time on the new songs while I'm here."

Marcus starts moving down the hall again and Patrick follows, hoping he's heading for the elevator. Nick grabs the guitar and catches up with him, slinging an arm around his shoulders. Pete takes Patrick's other side, sticking Patrick firmly in the middle of whatever "discussion" they're going to have.

"So you rehearse by doing what, karaoke?"

"I know the words already." Patrick can hear the patience in Nick's voice. "It's for the harmonies. Five... I mean four voices don't just fit together. You gotta work for it. Plus without Kevin we had to pick the setlist way early and re-do the arrangements. There's a lot of timing and shit going on. I gotta have that down before they throw blocking and choreography at me."

"Choreography." Pete is grinning, Patrick can tell without looking over at him.

"You expect us to what, stand in one spot for ninety minutes?" Nick says evenly. "Or maybe you want me to believe you don't go onstage with a plan of how you're gonna move, where you're gonna be for one song after another?"

"You take all the fun out of this, Nicky."

"You're just too easy, Wentz."

"Hey, can you teach Patrick that one dance, with the hats?" Marcus has found the elevator. Patrick leans against the wall. Just great. He was hoping Nick and Pete would learn to get along, but he'd forgotten that would probably mean teaming up against _him_.

"Nah, Patrick has _moves_ all his own." Nick says, bumping Patrick with his hip. Or maybe it won't.

"Hey Patrick. You hear that? Nicky thinks you've got _moves_." Patrick checks his watch. It's about three hours since breakfast and only the first time today he's wanted to punch Pete in the head. So, a good day.

"Marcus? Hold Pete for me, will you?"

* * * * * *

Lunch is followed by soundcheck, and it's after three o'clock that afternoon before Nick can finally get Patrick to himself. Patrick's got stuff set up in a room backstage this time, but before he opens GarageBand, he passes Nick a few sheets of paper. Nick blinks at the lyrics.

"Dude, when did you have time to come up with this?"

"Oh, y'know..." Patrick shrugs.

It's clearly a rough draft, but Patrick has taken Nick's aimless babbling about being out on the water and turned it into a song.

"Is there music, too?" He's not sure if he's being sarcastic, or whether he expects Patrick the magic time-manipulator to actually have something put together.

"I haven't put anything into the computer yet," Patrick says apologetically, but picks up his guitar and starts playing.

It's bare bones, of course, but if anyone had asked Nick what a rock power ballad about the ocean was going to sound like on an acoustic guitar, this was what he would have tried to describe. The verses are driving and repetitive, the boat rocking beneath his feet on a rough day, the power and age of the sea just barely leashed. The chorus is hushed, reverent, the peace and safety of his sanctuary away from people, washed clean. The bridge needs more instrumentation, but Patrick's voice rising high and triumphant has Nick mentally filling in his own voice, putting his own twist on it.

"Seriously, how are you _real_?" Nick demands when Patrick's done. He just manages to bite back on the "And can I keep you?" that threatens to get out.

Patrick looks at him as if he's the one pulling things out of thin air. "What are you talking about? I wrote a song, it's not like you don't do it too."

"Okay, that's it. I'm kidnapping you, you can come on the road with us, where you'll be properly appreciated. You write the songs, I'll arrange the harmonies, we'll take over the world."

"Fuck that." Oops. Nick turns to see Pete scowling at him from the doorway, arms folded across his chest. He's not quite as intimidating as Brian, but clearly Pissed Off. "Patrick's already taking over the world." The "with me" is left to hang unsaid between them.

"Pete..." is all Patrick can come up with as a protest. Pete moves further into the room, aiming for Nick.

"How come he doesn't get that he's a complete musical genius?" If Nick's going to get into a fight, he may as well try to get his point across in the process.

"He's a moron that way." Pete glances fondly at Patrick. "It's part of his charm. Which you clearly don't understand, Nicky."

"You know, I'm right here."

Nick considers Patrick's irritated expression. "So like, telling him at least once a day?"

"Doesn't work." Pete relaxes a little, his arms coming down. "I tried once an hour, dude tried to break my jaw."

"Right here." Patrick reiterates. "Also, you totally deserved it, you were being an asshole."

"All right, well if you're actually treating him right, I guess you can keep him."

"Yeah, thanks asshole." Pete shoves at him a little, but it's half-hearted and Nick lets it go.

"Pete, was there something you wanted?"

"My Patty-sense was telling me you were singing." Patrick's Death Glare makes Nick want to hit the deck. "Okay, okay. I just... was looking for you?"

And that's Nick's cue to be somewhere else. He folds the lyrics and slips them into his jeans. "I'm going to go find Marcus."

"You sure, man?" Pete actually looks grateful, which is stupid. Jokes aside, Nick's not coming between Patrick and his bandmates. There are rules about that sort of shit.

"Yeah, yeah. Find me later, Patrick."

As he slips out the door, he hears Pete saying to Patrick, "Okay, you can keep him, I guess."

* * * * * *

Nick finds Marcus "supervising" a video game tournament in the Plain White T's dressing room. He's welcomed with enthusiasm as "fresh blood" and invited to take his turn. It's a racing game, one Nick hasn't played in a while and Darren totally demolishes him. It's another familiar moment... until he passes off his controller and someone tries to pass him a beer in return.

The alarm bells are going off in his head, screaming "Wrong, wrong, wrong!" and he doesn't even realize he's frozen in place until Marcus lays a heavy hand on his shoulder and removes the beer from his line of sight. Nick sort of stumbles over to a convenient chair and sits down hard.

He looks around and sees the beer cans he'd been ignoring, scattered here and there around the room. He guesses he's lucky that there's no alcohol on Patrick's bus, that Fall Out Boy don't indulge the way some of their tourmates do. This is totally not his world. Patrick's great, and everyone's nice enough, but Nick will never fit in here.

"Hey, are you okay?" Nick looks up to see Andy in front of him, looking concerned. "You look like you need some air." He says decisively. "Come on."

It's an out and Nick is glad to take it. He trails after Andy, out the door to the hall, which does seem larger and brighter and... wow. Okay maybe Nick had been more shook up than he'd thought. He leans against the wall for a minute, Andy watching him patiently.

"I'm pretty much as straight-edge as they come and I don't react to a beer like that." Andy tells him. "Do you need to make a phone call?"

A phone call? Nick looks at him for a moment before realizing what he means. "Oh. No, man. I'm not in AA. I just... this is weird for me, being on tour with you guys. It's normal but not, like some bizarre alternate dimension."

"Yeah?" Andy picks a direction and they start walking.

"It's not like I don't have a beer sometimes." Nick tries to explain. "I mean, I don't drink much these days, but I used to. Alcohol with dinner, or at a party is fine, whatever. I can go to a bar or a club and not freak out."

"Mmm." Is all Andy says, but it's a listening sound, not a judging one, so it's enough.

"I didn't even know I'd react like that to someone having a beer backstage." Nick draws a breath, calming himself down a little more. "It's just... it doesn't happen with us."

"Doesn't fit with the squeaky clean image?" Andy teases.

"Probably in the beginning, that was it." Nick shoves his hands in his pockets, not looking at Andy, trying not to remember the other bad stuff from before. "They kept a pretty close eye on us, and we were all underage when we started out. In Europe, Howie and Kevin could drink after a show, but there wasn't beer backstage. Nobody ever went onstage drunk." The next bit is maybe more than he should be telling someone outside the band, but he sort of feels like he has to get it out, that the fact that Andy is a stranger who wasn't in the middle of it is one of the reasons he can say it. "It was the last rule AJ broke. Never go onstage messed up. He tried so hard to hide it around us, even though we could tell he was messed up. First he was performing hungover, then just barely sober... and then alert enough to perform because he'd taken something that messed him up just as much as the booze."

"That must have been pretty hard."

"It nearly broke us up." What Nick won't, can't say to anyone outside the band, is how terrified he was as things spiralled down, as AJ went into rehab and it seemed as if nothing would ever be right again. What life has drummed into him over and over again is that he cannot survive without the Boys in his life. As long as they are a unit (and even with Kevin not in the studio or onstage, he's still a part of them) he can go on with his life, sure things will be all right eventually. "I guess seeing it backstage... I know for these guys it's a normal part of being in a band, but to me it just means that bad shit is about to go down." He laughs a little. "God, I sound like a wimp."

"Staying away from stuff that can mess you up doesn't make you a wimp, man." Andy says. "It makes you smart. Stick to our dressing room, there's rarely booze in there."

"Yeah, maybe I will."

They walk in silence for a while, until Nick has pretty much pulled himself together. "Hey, Andy?"

"Yeah?"

"That was a kick-ass drum solo last night."

Andy grins. "Thanks."

"Would you mind showing me some stuff?" Nick feels like a kid asking a sports hero for pointers, but hey, drums are drums and he has questions. "Patrick and I were writing, but Pete needed a minute and..."

"You play?" Andy looks at him like he's upgrading Nick's worth from "person" to "drummer". "Oh right, you said yesterday. I keep forgetting you do stuff besides sing and dance."

He says it without malice, so Nick lets it slide. "Played drums before I started with BSB. I'm not on your level, but I still know my way around a kit."

"Sure, let's go mess around a little. Got something in mind?"

* * * * * *

Patrick comes looking for Nick, only to be backed into a corner by Andy and lectured on taking care of his guest. He doesn't say what exactly happened, just, "It's weird for him, being on tour without his guys. You're the only one he really knows around here. Just... keep a closer eye on him, okay? He's a good kid."

Patrick stammers out an agreement, refraining from pointing out that Nick is actually older than Andy. He is pointed towards their dressing room, where Nick is sprawled on a couch, drinking Coke and singing along with his iPod again.

Nick looks relieved to see him, and even pulls Patrick into a one-armed hug before they head back to the makeshift studio.

By this point, Patrick can definitively say that Nick is a clingy bastard. Worse than _Pete_, except Pete's clingy comes with bonus kissing. After that first moment on the bus when Nick had slung a friendly arm around his shoulders, it seems as if Nick forgot how to breathe without being in Patrick's space. When Patrick is standing up he becomes the recipient of an endless amount of quick hugs, pats to the shoulder, or on the head (although Nick learned quickly than anything other than his chin on top of Patrick's hat was off-limits). If he's sitting there's a head on his shoulder, or feet tucked under his thigh, or, if Nick's on the ground, he'll lean back against Patrick's legs. Patrick gets the impression that if he didn't have his laptop in his lap 98% of the time, Nick would have filled the empty space with his head.

And while Patrick has no qualms in telling Pete to get off him when he's being overly obnoxious, anytime Patrick shies away from Nick he shrinks back like a kicked puppy. Pete's kicked-puppy look, he's immune to. Sort of. But this is whole new levels of quiet, scrunched-up, "I'm sorry, don't hit me". So Patrick gives in.

It's not quite as intimate as cuddling with Pete, Nick hasn't taken to napping on him, or sitting on him, and occasionally there's a whole inch between their thighs when they sit next to each other, but it is constant. And after the first couple of hours, Patrick kinda of warms to it. Nick isn't anywhere near as bony as Pete, to start with. He's warm and cuddly and Patrick knows from personal experience that those can be really horrible adjectives, but they're true, dammit.

And when Nick falls asleep on Patrick's bed that night, about two hours into their post-show collaborative session, Patrick (when he looks up from his laptop and realizes what's going on) doesn't really think twice about curling up next to him.

* * * * * *

The sun streaming through the window wakes Nick up, and for a moment he's disoriented, if immensely comfortable, trying to reconcile the motion of the bus with the sun in his eyes. He's lying in a bed, curled around the warm weight of Patrick's body. He has a vague recollection of kicking off his jeans in the middle of the night and sliding under the covers. Apparently he didn't manage to have enough caffeine pre-show to stay awake for Patrick. He's not complaining about the results, though.

Patrick's still wearing his hat, or was when he got into bed. It's half off, enough to hint at the bald spot Patrick had confessed to one night. Cuddled against Nick's body he's about the cutest thing Nick's ever seen. Nick's tempted to touch the fine, soft hair that's suddenly on display, but contents himself with stroking Patrick's back and snuggling in closer. Patrick's got a great body for snuggling, nice and solid, no bony shoulders or pointy elbows. He smells good too, hints of musk and sweat from the show the night before, enough to get Nick from mildly aroused to comfortably horny.

But as much as Nick would love a morning make-out session, he's still not sure Patrick's up for something like that. Nick may have lost some weight but he's no one's definition of a little guy. Patrick probably just decided it was easier to let him be than to try and drag his sleep-heavy body out to his bunk. It's not like Patrick hasn't had to sleep in close quarters with other guys before, and he doesn't trust Nick enough to go to sleep with his hat off, which says something right there.

So Nick closes his eyes and feigns sleep, listening to Patrick breathe and savoring the moment.

* * * * * *

Patrick wakes up from a really nice dream to find that reality is almost as nice. He's not surprised that Nick's a cuddler in bed - he's a cuddler out of bed, after all. He has about two seconds to appreciate the feeling of being surrounded by a warm, firm body, and then Nick's eyes blink open. Patrick is still in that half-asleep mode where nothing seems entirely real, and maybe that's how he sees, or imagines he sees, the flash of dark, hot _appreciation_ in Nick's eyes. Possibly some part of his subconscious remembers that Nick's leaving tonight and there won't be another moment like this for a while, but whatever the reason, Patrick's instincts lead him to lean forward and close the gap between them, pressing his lips to Nick's in a chaste "good morning" kiss.

Nick's arm tightens across Patrick's back and his other hand comes around to cradle the back of Patrick's head, holding him in place while Nick returns the favour. His lips are dry and a little chapped, but Patrick honestly couldn't care less. His body is humming with the realization that this is really happening, that Nick is kissing him hot and slow and dirty and Patrick's cold streak looks to be ending really soon. It's possible that he makes some sort of noise to express his appreciation of that fact.

Patrick breaks away to breathe, flopping back against the pillow, some part of him making a mental note to ask Nick about breath control techniques, since Nick clearly has him beat in that area.

"Patrick," is all Nick says, but he says it with a growl of satisfaction that is really not helping Patrick's hard-on at all. Patrick decides to rectify this by pushing at Nick's shoulder and climbing on top of him.

Patrick's hat is hanging at a crazy angle and getting in his eyes. He shoves it off and dives back in for another taste of Nick's mouth. They rock against each other, seeking contact more than release. It's hot and lazy and Patrick could go on like this forever. When Nick's fingers eventually find the waistband of Patrick's boxers, he has a moment of regret that they're moving on before common sense kicks in and he starts helping. Once they're both naked from the waist down, the feel of skin on skin isn't something Patrick would give up for the world.

Nick comes first, nearly throwing Patrick off as he arches against him, making a high keening noise in this throat. Patrick thrusts down against him almost in self defense and the warm wetness between them is enough to set him off, biting down on Nick's shoulder as he comes.

When Patrick can function again, Nick is looking very proud of himself. "'Morning," he says lazily. "Sleep well?"

Patrick snorts at him. "No, asshole. Someone was hogging my bed."

"Yeah, sorry about that," Nick replies, not sounding sorry in the least.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nick deals with Patrick's bandmates.

"Nick, I can't work on this from your lap."

"You sure? I'm pretty comfy to sit on."

"Yes! You're..." Patrick waves a hand incoherently. "Distracting."

It's almost lunch time and Patrick hasn't made it out of his room yet today. Nick started humming the ocean song while playing with Patrick's hair and Patrick got an idea. Patrick's got his hat on again and Nick's been singing lines on request all morning, while Patrick fiddles. It's a lot more patient than any of Patrick's other lovers have been about his songwriting, but Nick's pretty cooperative, and mostly seems amused. He even got up to make coffee and bring Patrick a snack.

"You ever write with Pete when you're half naked like this?" he wants to know.

"Not if we're in the same room." Not that Pete hasn't seen him half naked, and even more naked than this, just not for extended periods of time, and seldom while Pete is draped all over him the way Nick is now.

"Okay, what do you think here?" He plays back the bridge for at least the tenth time. Nick cocks his head, frowning.

"Closer. But there's... I don't like the drums." He taps out the beat on Patrick's thigh with his chin. "Can you take them out? I can't tell if it's the drums or the bass line or if they're both a little off."

After determining that the bass line is too heavy for the bridge and that the drums are mostly fine, except for the fact that they're the wrong kind of drums, Nick finally stretches and uncurls from around Patrick.

"Okay, I think it's time for a break. We haven't had anything but coffee and Cinnamon Toast Crunch and I don't think you'll make it through soundcheck without at least a couple of sandwiches."

"Just one more..." Patrick mutters distractedly. Nick pushes the laptop closed gently but firmly.

"Hit save before it closes, dude."

"Gah." But he cooperates. "You realize that as soon as we go out there, the entire tour, led by Pete, are going to mock us without mercy."

"Yeah, well I'm leaving after the show." Nick points out, sounding almost triumphant.

"Love 'em and leave 'em. I should write a song."

"I think you sing enough of those, dude." Nick steals a kiss before pulling on his jeans. "Lemme find clothing I haven't slept in and then we can face the world."

"You mean you brought more than one pair of jeans for three days on tour?" Patrick mocks, hunting for something that doesn't smell like something died in it. "Fucking high-maintenance."

"You bet your ass." Nick slaps the ass in question and ducks out into the hall laughing.

* * * * * *

Patrick is going to have to explain to Nick that the number one rule of being a good boyfriend is "Never abandon me to the Wrath of Pete".

Most of his previous partners got that, but then most of his previous partners suffered under the erroneous assumption that they were somehow higher on Patrick's ladder than Pete, instead of being at most, equally important. Nick doesn't seem to be making that assumption. Unfortunately this leaves Patrick pinned up against a wall by Pete.

"I told you you could keep him" Pete half snarls at him. "I didn't say anything about fucking him."

"See, Pete, we haven't actually gotten to the point where you get to vet my boyfriends." Patrick explains, shoving Pete's hands off. "Because, and this is important, you are not my _mom_." Patrick has explained this to Pete a couple of times, but it never seems to stick. Of course, God forbid Patrick ever take issue with one of Pete's girlfriends. "Also, hi, have you looked at him? You thought if he made a move that I was going to say no to _that_?"

"I don't see what's so special." One of these days Pete will grow past the sulking stage. Patrick tells himself this is inevitable and one day he will be nostalgic for the sulking. Really, he will.

"That would be because you prefer your boys and your girls to be bendy, skinny little things. Nick is neither skinny nor little." Patrick pauses a second before confessing. "However, he's a pretty bendy dude."

"I do not want to know!" Pete claps his hands over his ears.

"Sure you don't, drama queen." Patrick pats him on the shoulder. "Now come have lunch with us and if you're nice to him I'll tell you details tomorrow."

* * * * * *

Nick is pondering the choices at the catering table and keeping an eye out for Patrick when Joe appears next to him.

"Hey." Joe says, eyeing Nick like he's a particularly weird type of animal that just happened to pop up backstage.

"Hey." Nick checks the doorway, but still no Patrick. Pete wouldn't actually kill Patrick, right? He's just locking him away somewhere Nick can't get to him... or something.

"So I hear that your relationship with Patrick is not strictly professional."

Nick looks at Joe. "Are we actually going to do this here?" He was expecting a dark corner, a locked boardroom, a deserted gas station, not a brightly lit catering area.

Joe takes a slow look around. "Sure, we're all friends here." Right. Not a brightly lit catering area - temporary gang headquarters. Nick forgets sometimes. Joe's grin is sort of shark-like. "Unless you're telling me I'm gonna have to kick your ass already?"

"No. No dawg, it's cool." If Patrick gets locked in a closet somewhere by Pete Wentz, it's possible he'll be pissed at Nick, but until further notice...

"Good." Joe grabs a plate and begins serving himself. "Now, my friend Andy would say things like "Patrick's a big boy, he can take care of himself". I'm not saying that this isn't true. But dude, if you hurt Patrick, what _Patrick_ will do to you is only the start."

"I know that." People have a tendency to underestimate Nick's intelligence, but really how stupid does he look? "You've got his back, dude. I get that."

"You're taking this pretty casually, dude. I don't think you..."

Nick fishes out his phone and hands it to Joe. "Call Kevin. Ask him what he did to Paris Hilton. Then ask me if I don't know what a guy's band will do to someone who fucks him over."

Joe looks from the phone to Nick and back again.

"Seriously. I'll admit that if things start to go sour, I can be really fucking petty. But I will not fuck around on him. Patrick's good people, he's treated me awesome so far, I will not screw that up."

"All right." Joe nods slowly. "You do know the score. Well, welcome to the family, man."

* * * * * *

After Pete storms off making ominous rumblings, Patrick finds Nick in the catering area and sits down beside him. "Just so you know, my bassist is an overprotective psychopath."

"Good to know. What would you call your guitarist?"

"Um..." Patrick peers at him from under his hat. Nick doesn't look bruised. "He didn't like, hit you or anything?"

"No, just threatened me." Nick pops a chip in his mouth, seeming remarkably unconcerned. "I think we settled things - he welcomed me to the family."

"That was fast."

"I'm a very convincing dude." Nick's innocent look is very good. Patrick admires it for a moment, attempts to memorize it in self-defense. "What's up this afternoon?"

"Radio thing after soundcheck. Not live, we'll do it somewhere around here. After that," Patrick shrugs, steals a carrot of Nick's plate. "Lots of stuff we could do."

"I have this feeling that if we try to do anything too fun your bassist will object. And maybe try to stop us."

This is, sadly, quite true. And sex is pretty much the top item on Patrick's "List of Things Pete Should Not Walk in on Too Often". The list of "Things Pete Should Never Walk In On" was made useless a very long time ago, a casualty of living on top of each other and Pete's obnoxious sense of timing. Still, he has Nick for less than twelve more hours.

"So work, or play? We could do both on the bus."

"It's a fantastic bus, and I'm gonna have awesome memories of it," Nick says apologetically, "but if I don't get a little fresh air today I'm gonna go nuts."

"Freak. You can get fresh air during soundcheck."

"But then I don't get to see you play!"

"Or during the radio interview."

Nick pouts. It should not be this endearing. "You don't want to play with me?"

"Oh my God, you're five. Seriously, if I didn't think you'd kill each other, I'd say you and Pete should start a club." Patrick takes away the remainder of Nick's lunch and puts it aside, before taking a page out of Pete's book and climbing into Nick's lap. It's kind of fun. Patrick makes a note to do this more often.

"I totally want to play with you." He explains, kissing his way along Nick's jawline. "That is why you should do your fresh air activities when we absolutely have to be apart. Otherwise we're going to end up having a little too much fun somewhere there might be cameras."

"Good thinking, Yoda." Nick says and ducks down to capture his mouth.

Patrick wants to add that Yoda is definitely someone that no one should think about during a makeout session, but Nick's kissing him too thoroughly for the thought to stick around.

Nick gets his hands up the back of Patrick's shirt before the first breadroll hits them. That's all it takes for Patrick to register the calls of "Go Stump!" and "Get a room!"

He leans his forehead against Nick's. "Are we making out in front of the entire population of this tour?"

"Uh huh. Also, you're a very nice shade of red." Nick's chuckling vibrates through Patrick's body. It's not enough to kill his embarrassment.

"Please kill me now."

* * * * * *

Nick and Patrick spend the five or so hours between the radio interview and dinner in the back of Patrick's bus. They alternate between figuring out what they still have left to do on Nick's album and extended makeout sessions. Pete apparently made some interesting allusions during the interview that make Patrick just paranoid enough to keep all his clothes on, although he loses his hat a couple of times.

Nick, having grown up with four nosy, obnoxious and overprotective "brothers" doesn't tease him about it too much. He does make a game out of seeing just what he can get away with before Patrick backs away, swearing he heard someone get on the bus. Twice, he's actually right but both times it's Andy, who doesn't seem inclined to interrupt them.

Patrick is of the opinion that they're about halfway done. Six more songs will bring them to twelve, which is a reasonable number to present to the label. Including the new song they've been working on this visit, there are four more songs Patrick's looked at and thinks might be worth finishing. Which means they still have two more to write.

"I think we need at least one more session in person. You could come to Chicago for Thanksgiving," Patrick suggests.

The unspoken idea that he could meet Patrick's family warms Nick to his toes, but he's got another idea. "You could come to Kentucky."

"What's in Kentucky?"

"Brian is making Kevin host Thanksgiving this year." Nick tries for innocent, but he can see that Patrick has already put two and two together and come up with five.

"You want me to meet your bandmates on possibly the most dysfunctional holiday of the year?" Patrick says. "When some of them will be carrying knives?"

Ok, that's a good point. "Maybe not?"

"Let's just say we'll check the schedules again. And if we can book actual studio time, that would be nice too."

"You don't want to spend a couple of days stuck in a bus with me and my guys?"

"First of all, that wouldn't be until January, you moron." Again, a good point. Making out with Patrick is bad for Nick's IQ. "And if you meant stuck on your promo tour, that doesn't give us time to record anything unless you do it in the middle of radio interviews, which I don't think your guys would appreciate."

"All right all right. I'll check the schedule." Nick makes a note to himself on his phone. "Are we done?"

"I think so."

"Good. Come here."

* * * * * *

Nick's mistake, he realizes, is in coming back to the hotel instead of finding a way to disappear directly from the arena. He wouldn't have been able to say a proper goodbye to Patrick, and the logistics would have been pretty tricky, particularly getting out of the post-concert traffic and to the airport on time. Still, if he'd planned things properly, he wouldn't have climbed into the van to find himself alone with Pete on a forty-minute drive to the airport.

For almost the first ten minutes Pete doesn't say a word. That would be fine with Nick, except for the fact that Pete passes the time by staring at him as if he can see inside of Nick's skull and doesn't particularly like what he sees.

Nick starts to fidget. He's not the most patient person on the planet, and he doesn't know how to start this conversation. Is this the "I swear I will not take Patrick away from you" talk? Or is it the "I promise to treat him like fucking gold" version?

Eventually, Pete looks away from him and stares out the window. "You'll call him tomorrow morning?"

This is so far from any question that Nick was expecting that he can't process the meaning. "What?"

"Tomorrow. When you get home safe and you're a couple thousand miles away and there isn't a convenient warm body in your bed. You'll call him. Let him know you got in safe. Talk to him about stuff that have fuck all to do with your shitty sophomore album."

"I'll... try." Because Pete's met Patrick. He must know how fucking hard it is to get Patrick talking about anything that's not music.

Pete slams a fist down on his armrest. "You will. You will, or I swear you're not getting on that plane. This isn't Chicago, but I'm pretty sure I can find somewhere to hide the body for a few weeks."

"Pete..." Nick's trying really hard to decipher whatever code Pete's speaking in. "Are you asking me if Patrick was a convenient fuck?"

The sound Pete makes isn't human.

"Because Patrick's not a convenient anything. It's not easy working with a producer who's on the road, especially when the dude isn't on the road _with me_. It wasn't easy coming here in the middle of promotion for my group's album and trying to hang out with your crew when we barely speak the same language. If you think I'm stupid enough to fuck up all that effort for a one-night stand..." Nick's very close to punching something and he's got to remember very hard that Patrick would murder him if he bloodied Pete. "Well, that would be typical. Lots of people think I'm a dumbass with half a brain. But I'm not. I know a good thing when I see it, Wentz."

Pete finally turns towards him again. "Good. If you fuck this up Nicky, that album won't see the light of day."

Nick can't help laughing. It's probably the weakest threat Pete could throw at him. "Man, you really know nothing about me, do you? Yeah, you do that. You call up my label and say you don't want them to release my next record. They'll probably give you a fucking medal."

Pete looks confused for all of half a second. "I can do worse."

Nick does his best to breathe and calm down, because this is a serious conversation and Pete deserves respect right now, if only because he's Patrick's. "I know. Just promise me something?"

Pete raises an eyebrow.

"You know what the tabloids are like, dawg. And the internet's worse. Don't go ballistic on me on a rumour. I'll keep my guys off Patrick's back for that too. Deal?"

"Your guys?" Now Pete's amused. "I'm sure Patrick can handle your guys."

"Yeah, you keep thinking that, Wentz."


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Boys, time zone issues, writer's block, and Panic.

On the bus with Patrick, when the options were writing, eating or rehearsing, it was much easier to think about it as coming up with _just two more songs_. Rattling around on a promo tour until he isn't sure what language the audience speaks, forget about what time zone he's in, he remembers that's he's not so good at writing on a deadline.

"Am I waking you up, keeping you up, or calling in the middle of soundcheck?" he asks forlornly. Whose brilliant idea was Europe in October anyway?

"It's uh... actually it's dinner. I should probably eat." Patrick sounds vaguely surprised, as if he doesn't let the time get away from him, like every single day. It's cute.

"Working on that new thing with Pete?" It's sort of odd to think that Patrick has his own stuff to work on. It's probably a good sign that Patrick now thinks it's okay to talk to Nick about his other projects. It's not like Nick's jealous or anything. Okay, he might be, if he'd had the time and energy to send Patrick anything this week.

"Yeah." There's various shuffling noises over the phone. Nick can picture Patrick tucking it under his chin as he closes the laptop and rolls off his bed. "It's possible Pete Wentz has written a love song that does not end in horrible bloody vengeance. I'm thinking of checking him for pods. Or possibly asking Ryan to stop texting Pete his cast-offs."

"Have you worked out the bridge yet?"

"No, so there's still hope."

Nick snickers. The jokes about Pete are new, too. Patrick seems to get that Nick won't take them as actual jabs at Pete. Nick's also not stupid enough to think this gives him license to make fun of Pete.

"Anything on your end?" Somehow Patrick manages to sound interested without nagging. Nick's not sure if it makes him feel better or worse.

"Dude, I tried last night and then I realized that I was typing up the lyrics to the next single." He might have banged his head on the keyboard a couple of times at that point.

"Wow. That's sort of impressive levels of jet-lag. Should you be calling me? Like, what time is it there? Shouldn't you be sleeping?"

"Oh fuck off. I am a popstar and..." Nick yawns. A lot. Patrick's laughter isn't subtle. "And I'm getting up at ass o'clock again tomorrow. Also, I think Brian's done with the shower, so our time without an audience is almost up."

"You mean I shouldn't tell you what I'm wearing?"

And Nick must be tired because the part of him that goes "ooh, phone sex, I can totally hide in the bathroom, Brian won't hear much" is a lot quieter than the part that goes "if I pass out _right fucking now_ I might get a whole five hours sleep".

"Seriously? Hold that thought. We have to have at least one day off sometime soon and I will calculate the time difference and find myself an empty hotel room and everything." And he's not quite tired enough to _not_ be picturing it. But then Brian walks in and yeah, no. "For now, have a good show, say hi to Marcus for me, and I'll call you tomorrow."

"'Night Nick. Write me something!"

* * * * * *

Normally Patrick wouldn't be picking up his phone at two in the afternoon, much less when the number's not one he recognizes. Today's a day off though, and no-one needs him to soundcheck anything, plus he's gotten used to Nick's habit of picking up the nearest cell phone to call, whether it belongs to him or not.

"Hey dude, what state, province or country are you in today?"

There's a pause, before an unfamiliar slow drawl responds. "I'm in Kentucky. Where are you?"

"Um..." There's something in the voice that sets off warning bells beyond the normal "A fan has gotten hold of my cell number again". "Texas. Who's this?"

"This is Kevin Richardson. I'm a friend of Nick's."

And Patrick knows from the tone that this is not the point to this call, but he has to ask just in case. "Is Nick okay?"

"Nick's fine." Kevin says evenly. "I called him a couple of days ago to talk about some new tracks he sent me. He talked about his new producer a lot."

"Good things, I hope?" Patrick's throat is a little dry. Maybe he can accidentally-on-purpose hang up and go get something to drink.

"Plenty of good things. So many good things that I started to think that maybe his new producer was doing more than just producing a few tracks for him."

Hang up. Hang up and change his cell phone number and possibly convince Pete that they need to re-work the tour schedule so he can't be found.

"That's um..." Patrick coughs. "A possibility."

"Now, I've got nothing against you, Patrick. You seem to make Nick very happy, and that's a good thing." Kevin continues in the same even, professional tone. Patrick can easily picture Kevin ordering a hit in the same tone of voice. "But you see, I worry about Nick. He's not always the best judge of character. And sometimes the people he chooses to spend time with do stupid things."

Patrick has absolutely nothing to say to this.

"Did you know that this year I decided to take some time off from the Backstreet Boys?" Kevin asks. "That means that if you ever do something stupid, I don't have to worry about tour schedules or promotional commitments, or even whether anyone will see me going somewhere at the airport."

Note to self. Never, ever let this guy anywhere near Pete. Pete might actually become an evil mastermind with help like this.

"I understand." He manages.

"Do you? That's good, Patrick. That's very good to know. Because right now Nick is happy, and it's really in everyone's best interest that he stay that way. Don't you think?"

"Absolutely."

"All right then. Have a nice day, Patrick. Maybe Nick will bring you around to meet me sometime."

Kevin hangs up. Patrick stares at the phone for a second. He fetches a bottle of juice out of the fridge before calling Nick.

"Is Kevin the one you wanted me to meet while there were knives around? Because I'm really glad I said no."

* * * * * *

After a morning show appearance, two magazine interviews and a photoshoot, they're done for the day. It's only two in the afternoon, but they started the day at four, so no one thinks it's weird when Nick opts out of a shopping trip to head back to the hotel.

What he really should do is get out his guitar and see if anything comes to him. What he wants to do is call Patrick. It's something like eight in the morning or earlier so he might wake the dude up, but their phone calls have gotten shorter and more voicemail has been involved since Nick left the continent.

So, Nick puts the chain on the door (which he's not sharing with anyone today, but just in case) and gets comfortable before picking up the phone to dial.

He gets voicemail and sighs. "Hey Yoda, it's Nick. I've got the rest of the day off, so I thought I'd try a wake-up call, but I guess you've got it on vibrate. Or maybe you're a heavy sleeper? I wasn't around long enough to figure that out. I'm gonna take a nap, so hey in about five minutes we'll be doing the same thing, even if we are like, a zillion miles apart. My phone's _not_ on vibrate, so gimme a call when you get this."

Naps are sweet and Nick has never turned one down when he gets the chance, but it feels just a little lonely curling up by himself.

When the phone does ring, it takes him a moment to figure out what's going on, but instinct has the phone to his ear before he's entirely awake. "Mmmm?"

"Nick Carter, this is your wake up call." Patrick says, sounding warm and amused.

Nick stretches and yawns, immediately much happier. "Hey dude. Time'zit?"

"Um.. about nine. I had like, half a coffee and climbed back into bed."

"Yeah?" Nick snuggles down into the bed a little. "Cool."

"It's the middle of the afternoon there, right? How did you get a whole afternoon off?"

"Got up at four am."

"Ouch. So the seven am phone call wasn't so much "I miss you" as revenge?"

"Was it seven? Huh. No, it was just... wanted to call." He's not as good at "I miss you" when there's a person actually listening.

"Well, you got me. Eventually. And we're still both in bed, even if you are seven or eight time zones away." Patrick's voice dips just a little lower, enough to not be a joke if Nick doesn't want it to be. "What are you wearing?"

"T-shirt and boxers." Nick tells him. Also socks, but he's not owning up to that over the phone. "I'm not taking anything off until your hat and glasses are off."

"What is this, strip poker?"

"No. It's me wanting to play with your hair and see you look all fuzzy and kind of dazed."

"If you call me cute, Carter..."

Nick laughs. "Did I say cute?" The cute was totally implied, though. "C'mon. The only time I can play with your hair is when I'm too far away to lose a hand over it." Which doesn't actually make sense, but whatever. "Hat off."

"Hat is off and you're playing with my non-existent hair."

"Oh please. You've got plenty of hair, dude. And it's soft. I like it."

"You're insane." Patrick grumps at him.

"You love it."

"That's what you think."

"Dude, we're bad at phone sex."

"I rule at phone sex. You just had to mention the hat."

"You were totally wearing one! I wasn't going to picture fucking you with your hat on!"

"Why not? I have some very hot hats."

"I can't believe we're having this conversation."

"I do. C'mon, you can't picture opening the door to me wearing a suit and a really sharp fedora?"

"Um..." Nick's seen pictures, it is pretty hot.

"You'd be all rumpled and cute," Patrick continues, his voice warmer and slow. "In your t-shirt and boxers, probably with socks on, because hotel rooms in Europe are kind of cold."

Nick reaches down to pull his socks off as a matter of principle.

"You'd still be half-asleep. I'd have to push you into the room to get in. You'd stumble back a little and end up with your back against the wall. I'd have to tug your shirt to get you down where I could kiss you hello."

"Mmm," Nick mutters, remembering. "Your mouth."

"You like my mouth, huh?" Patrick sounds kind of wicked. "I didn't get to suck you off when you were here. Bet you'd like that even more."

"Oh yeah." Nick palms his dick through his boxers. It's getting pretty interested in this already.

"Are you touching yourself, Nick? Picturing me on my knees in front of you? I'm getting hard just thinking about seeing your cock again. It's a nice size. I probably wouldn't be able to take all of it, but we both know I wouldn't have to to make you feel really good."

"Fuck." Nick's got his hand down his shorts now. "It's kind of mean to promise a guy a blowjob when you don't know when you can pay up."

"Consider it incentive," Patrick says, a little breathless. And doesn't that make Nick's hand move just a little faster. "You'll just have to get creative with the schedules. And then... and then you'd have to..."

"Reciprocate." Nick finishes, picturing that too. "Get you all spread out on the bed, hold you down by your hips..."

"Oh shit." Nick bites his lip. Patrick swearing is way hotter than it should be.

"Pin you down so you could really feel it. So you couldn't move. There'd be bruises later, little marks that only you and me would know about. You'd touch them later while you're jerking off. Can you feel them now?"

"Oh... oh fuck, _Nick_!"

Patrick's voice sends Nick over the edge. When he comes down, he tastes blood - he's bitten right through his lip.

"Admit it," Patrick says, panting at little. "I rule at phone sex."

* * * * * *

It's been a week and a half since Nick last sent him anything workable, and Patrick is beginning to wonder how long it took him to piece together the twelve or so songs he'd sent at the start. He scrolls through his folder of their work, trying to think of something else he can do to this one or that one... wondering if there's a track he discarded too quickly... He wants to _work_, and today he wants to work on something of Nick's. He clicks on a joke track Nick sent him a week into their collaboration - a cover of _Sophomore Slump_ that Pete is never ever allowed to hear. It's pretty decent though - just Nick's vocals over the original instrumentation.

Suddenly, he wonders if that's the answer. Nick's done a lot of writing compared to the five tracks on _Now or Never_. Maybe it's time for a cover, or some other songwriter. He pulls the laptop closer, glad to have a project to think about. He clicks on a folder that he and Pete share, full of half-done songs. It's mostly their own material, but about a quarter of it is stuff sent to Pete for approval from someone on Decaydance, or things that have been discarded from projects Patrick produced.

He toys with the idea of having Nick do a Gabe Saporta track, but amusing as it would be, nothing he has on hand really goes with the rest of Nick's album. Pretty much all of The Cab's stuff in the folder are still on hold until they're further along in the album process. Patrick flags a couple of GCH tracks that might work with some major retooling, but he's starting to think he'll have to ask Nick about songwriters he likes working with. Not necessarily a bad thing, but probably more expensive than Nick wants.

He's still not entirely clear why Nick's funding the record himself - he'd looked up the sales numbers for _Now or Never_ and for a debut album they're pretty damn good. Hell, Panic! at the Disco would currently kill for those numbers for their _second_ album. But then again, they're pretty damn nervous at the moment. They've thrown away about three times as many songs as they're actually using, and the album still isn't finished... that's an idea.

Once Ryan latched onto the "simple" idea, it took him quite a while to settle on a sound and a theme he liked. But with a little tweaking... Patrick moves three tracks off the shared folder to his own computer and hopes Pete won't notice until Patrick's done with them.

* * * * * *

"Dude, why does the voice on this demo sound familiar, and why isn't it you?" Nick asks when Patrick picks up.

"Uh..." Patrick sounds almost nervous. Maybe Nick could have started with "Hello". "I told you it wasn't one of mine, right?"

Nick looks back at the text of the email. Oh. He'd been so relieved to see _songs_, he'd skipped right over most of what Patrick had to say. "So who is it?"

"It's um, Brendon. From Panic! at the Disco."

That's... unexpected. Nick thinks back to the very enthusiastic kid who sang with him at Spencer's party. It seems like forever ago.

"Was this written for me?" Because it sure wasn't written for Brendon. Brendon's voice is deeper than Nick's, but also cleaner. This song needs the rough edges Nick's voice can give it. It's not a pretty song.

"No. They were going through, like, a transitional phase or something, where they tossed out like, two songs for every one they kept. And then a week later they'd toss that one out too. From what Pete's said, I think they've settled down now, but this is one of the ones they didn't use."

"Huh."

"So what do you think?" Patrick says, sounding more comfortable now. "Also, which one do you mean by "this" one?"

"Um. The second one. It's..." He loses his words.

He'd listened to it twice before it had occurred to him it wasn't Patrick's voice on the track. The verses were very subdued, the chorus a complete rock-out, more violence in the song than anything Nick's ever recorded, although he's tried. Brendon, or whoever actually wrote the song, has written a song Nick once would have given his eyeteeth to be able to write. His mom will never believe he didn't write it, assuming she pays attention to his solo career.

He's not sure he wants her to hear it. He sure as hell isn't going to give up the chance to record it. "I haven't listened to the last one you sent," he confesses. "But I _want_ this one, Patrick."

* * * * * *

"We need to do this right." Nick was saying earnestly. "Book studio time, musicians, everything."

Patrick had suspected Nick would identify with this particular Panic song, but not like _this_. He thinks the words are probably mostly Brendon's, and Nick's occasional allusions to "shitty parents" had all been a lot less complicated than what wound through this song. It is a good song though, and if Nick can come up with the right delivery, it could be awesome.

If Nick wants to spend his money on studio time and session musicians, that's his call, and Patrick won't say no to being behind a 24-track board again, much less to seeing Nick for a day or two. But there's something very personal behind Nick's sudden enthusiasm and Patrick has learned to be protective.

"Are you sure you want witnesses?" It's maybe more than he has a right to ask. Nick hasn't told him anything about his family, really, he's assuming things.

"I..." Nick sighs heavily. Patrick can almost feel him slowing down, hear him thinking. "They could lay down the instrumental tracks without me... No, fuck. I want to do this live. Can you sit in on it?"

"Sure." It's harder to produce in the studio when you're actually part of laying down the tracks, but nothing Patrick hasn't done before. He contemplates suggesting that some if not all of Panic sit in on it as well, before realizing. "Shit. Nick, I haven't even asked for permission yet. I was going to get you to record the vocal and send it to them."

"I can do that tonight no problem. And if they say no to you, I'll call them up. Whatever we have to do to get it."

When he gets the email, Patrick is almost afraid to listen. But it's good. Nick's voice is subtle and haunting when it's called for, and raw almost to the point of cracking when he goes on the attack. Patrick picks up the phone to call Las Vegas.

* * * * * *

Nick's distracted and fidgety. The others cover for him through two radio interviews, a photoshoot, and a meeting with some European label reps. But for dinner, instead of going out as they had originally planned, all four of them crowd into Brian and AJ's room.

Nick plops down on one bed, with Howie next to him. AJ chooses to lean against the wall, so Brian stretches out, a bed all to himself.

"What's up, Nicky?" Howie has no tact with any of them, which is part of the reason he ended up group peacemaker.

"It's... nothing really." He hasn't played any of the new stuff for the guys. The whole process is a lot more work than normal and he isn't sure he could keep going if any of them even looked like they might say anything bad about it. He asked for Kevin's advice on two tracks, but he doesn't need to see Kevin face to face every day.

"Translation: It's your album." AJ says, crossing his arms. "That Patrick dude jerking you around?"

"No." He also still hasn't told them that Patrick's more than his producer. Normally they'd all notice right away, but they didn't see him until more than twenty-four hours after he'd gotten laid, and that was in an airport lounge waiting to fly to Europe. "No, Patrick's awesome."

"Oh really?" AJ's eyebrows climb up dramatically. "Do tell." Howie's grinning a little, and bounces the bed encouragingly. When they're paying attention his fellas catch on pretty quick.

Brian's still frowning, not so easily diverted. "So if Patrick's not the problem, what's got you so jumpy, Frack?"

Nick lets himself fall backward onto the bed, letting his breath out in a sigh. "Um. We need two more songs for the album and I've been stuck since I came back from seeing Patrick."

"You haven't been jumpy except for today." Howie points out, Captain Obvious as usual.

"Yeah, well." Nick picks at the bedspread absently. "Yesterday Patrick came up with a solution. Sent me a couple of tracks by other people to see what I thought."

"Who was it?" AJ asks. "Bryan Adams or something?"

Nick snorts. He likes Bryan Adams, but they've worked with Mutt Lange - Bryan Adams wouldn't intimidate him one bit.

"Steve Perry?" Brian suggests. And wouldn't _that_ be a trip, to do a Steve Perry track.

"Nothing like that, guys." He pushes himself up on his elbows to look at them all. "It's this really awesome track. About... carrying a piece of your parents around, no matter how much you had to grow up by yourself."

Even with the guys, his family life doesn't come up much. They've been there for enough of it, he doesn't usually need to talk about it. Brian has gone a particular kind of quiet reserved for people who hurt any of them. Howie sits there radiating sympathy, and AJ is swearing quietly.

"It's... I'm still not totally sure I want it out there for everyone to hear. But I have to record it. I just... I need to. But it's a discarded track Patrick had lying around, he hadn't asked permission yet. And he hasn't called back."

"Okay, so do you want anything special from room service, or can we pick something while you go call him already?" Is AJ's response. Nick kinda loves AJ.

"Nothing Brian wouldn't eat," is probably the quickest way to make sure they don't order him anything too weird. He stands up, and submits to hugs all round before crossing the hall to the room he's sharing with Howie.

If he's done the math right, it's a little before soundcheck. He dials quickly, and sits on his bed to wait.

* * * * * *

When Ryan hears what song Patrick is interested in, he turns from mildly interested to guarded. "That's one of Brendon's. Brendon and Jon really, but... you can't give that song to just anybody, Patrick."

"And if I said it was Nick Carter who wanted it?"

"Wow, that wouldn't be splashing Brendon's personal business all over the planet or anything."

"Thank you, Ryan Ross, I didn't know that already." Sometimes dealing with Ryan gives Patrick a headache. There are a number of Patrick's friends who do this to him, it's probably a sign he needs better friends. "If Brendon says yes, are you going to talk him out of it?"

"No." Ryan grants him sullenly. "It's Brendon's business."

"Thanks." The most important part of the call over, Patrick relaxes a little. "How's the album going?"

* * * * * *

"I don't know, Patrick." Brendon's voice is quiet, considering. "I mean, it's really personal, you know? If it was me singing it live, or even Ryan or Jon.... Maybe if you were calling to say _you_ guys wanted it. Maybe. Uh, not that I'm saying it's good enough for a Fall Out Boy record or..."

"It's not our style, exactly." Patrick says patiently. "But it is Nick's. And I think he gets it. I mean, he's never given me details, but he had shitty parents too."

"It's not just about having shitty parents, man."

"No, I know. But I think he gets it." Patrick repeats. "Will you at least listen to the demo?"

"I... Yeah. Okay. I can do that. But I'll... I mean, no guarantees or anything, okay?"

"That's fine. I get that." Patrick tries to figure out how to express to Brendon how much this means to Nick. It's hard, because he isn't sure himself. "He really wants this one, dude. Like, we've done most of the songs just the two of us feeding stuff into GarageBand but he's talking about studio time just for this song. And he wants you guys to play on it."

"Wait, what?" That sounds a little more like normal Brendon. "He wants what?"

"He doesn't want to do it with just any session musicians. It would just be you, me, Nick and whoever else from Panic you want to bring in. I'd produce it."

"Wow." Brendon says, definitely more enthused. "That would be about a million times better than the video Pete has."

Trust Brendon Urie to take Pete's blackmail material and put it on his iPod.

"But still, no guarantees. I'll listen."

"Okay. It should be in your inbox in a minute. Gimme a call later."

"Sure thing. Hey, Patrick? You should probably talk to Ryan, too. He's got a couple of ideas he wants advice on but you know how he is."

"I'll talk to him. Later, dude."

Brendon eventually confesses to liking Nick's version, but he's still not sold on the idea of letting Nick put it out there. It takes three lengthy (from what Patrick hears) phone calls from Nick until finally, Brendon agrees and the scheduling hell starts.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Recording on The Song begins. (I have no idea if AJ has a place in Vegas, but he spends an awful lot of time there. "Denise" is AJ's mom, she toured with the group for several years, way longer than Nick's own parents. Also, points to anyone who can guess who "Geoff the engineer" references. )

It was pretty much inevitable that the recording ended up booked for Vegas. Panic is already there, and anytime Fall Out Boy is in the area there's almost inevitably a day off involved so Pete can go hang out with/harrass his proteges. The only possible obstacle is Nick's schedule.

"Oh wow." Nick says over the phone, sounding completely awed by the benevolence of the scheduling gods. "That's the week before the record comes out. We're back in the States the night before your show and we have like, three days off before we go back to New York for more insanity."

"So I should arrange to hijack Panic's studio time?"

"Yeah, go for it dawg. I mean, I'll be running on no sleep but wow is that not new."

"Cool."

* * * * *

About half an hour after bus call on the way to Vegas, Patrick's phone rings.

"Ready to record on no fucking sleep?" Nick asks, sounding tired.

"I've got about six hours to sleep." Patrick reminds him. "Unless you have other plans?"

"I wish. We just landed in New York. Gotta pass customs and then get on the flight to Vegas with two jokers who will probably give me the third degree the whole way there."

"Who's coming?" Patrick frowns. Nick and Brendon agreed to keep the number of people at the studio to a minimum. Pete's only allowed in because he'd pouted at spending that much time in Vegas without Ryan.

"AJ has a place in Vegas. He and Howie just happen to want to spend their two days of downtime there. And somehow they've arranged to check out your show tomorrow night. Tonight. Whatever."

"Um..."

"My advice? Throw Marcus at AJ and run."

"Nick, you're not exactly inspiring confidence, here."

"What, you're worried?" Nick sounds honestly confused. "Why?"

"Your bandmates are coming to Vegas for the express purpose of threatening me. I shouldn't be worried?"

"Well, first off, at least it's not Brian. And secondly, what the fuck, man? They'll say some shit, look threatening... well, Howie will try, he's not very good at it... and then we get on with our lives. It's not like you're actually going to do anything that would make them hunt you down, dude."

Patrick's speechless. It's about as close as Nick has ever gotten to "I trust you". Patrick's not going to go any further with that thought. In fact his brain's sort of stuck.

"I wish I could say the same for Pete, but um... he's sort of irrational sometimes. I'll hold him back though."

* * * * *

Nick manages to stumble into McCarran airport ahead of AJ and Howie, due mostly to the fact that he had booked his ticket separately, so they're three rows behind him. Also, less desperate to get the fuck off the plane, partly because those three rows didn't stop them harrassing him every five minutes.

He's met by a scruffy guy in a hoodie and jeans who looks vaguely familiar, holding a sign that reads "William Beckett".

"He's tall," was Patrick's only explanation when they'd agreed on the codename.

"Hey Nick. Jon Walker." This twigs something in the back of Nick's brain and while he's not awake enough to put all the dots together, he makes his best guess and assumes this guy is actually in Panic! at the Disco.

"Hi," he says, shaking Jon's hand and shouldering his knapsack. "Can we get out of here really fast before my guys find me and try to give you the third degree?" He's pretty sure Howie hasn't done any research yet and he might assume Jon is Patrick. Jon's even less deserving of a third degree than Patrick is so...

"Sure," Jon turns to lead the way. "Spencer's got the car running."

"Awesome."

Jon knows the airport well enough to get them out to Spencer's car in less than five minutes. Nick's phone is ringing by that point, but he feels justified in completely ignoring AJ. Jon loads Nick's luggage into the trunk and encourages Nick to nap in the back seat. Before making the attempt he texts Patrick.

_Safe in Vegas. See you soon._

* * * * * *

Nick has rehearsed this song a million times by himself, but when Panic very kindly urge him to sleep until Patrick shows up, he has to say no. If they don't rehearse together a couple of times, he's not going to be able to sing this in front of Patrick. No matter what else Patrick is, in this he's definitely an outsider. Just seeing the studio and knowing he's about to walk in there and sing this makes him wish he'd asked for one of the guys to be there, because they at least know, sort of, what this means.

"Hey," Brendon bumps his hip. Or tries to, he hits about mid-thigh. "Listen. I uh... wanted to thank you. For wanting to record it. I mean, I know I was a real asshole about it at first, but..."

Nick swallows hard. "No, it's okay. I just. You got the words down on paper. And if I could do that and some other idiot called me up all "I wanna record that dope song of yours" I'd hang up on him."

Brendon's laugh is harsh. "Is it stupid to still be pretty relieved my Mom will probably never know I wrote this?"

"Fuck no. You..." Oh god, he's going to tear up in a second and maybe he can't do this after all. "You've still got a chance, y'know? Don't... don't take that for granted, man." Not that Nick's given up, exactly. But every time he gives one of them a chance he knows he's being an idiot, and every time, they both prove him right. Yeah, he's totally not getting through today without at least one phone call to Kevin, or maybe Denise. Except Denise will make him cry. Dammit.

"So do you." Brendon's told Nick a little of what Ryan's deal is, so he doesn't take offense. Ryan is standing with his whole body screaming "I am not here, don't notice me" but his eyes are intense.

"I make as many chances as I can," is all he can say to that.

"Ok the therapy portion of today is supposed to take place in the studio." Spencer interrupts with all the timing of an excellent drummer. "Could we try getting in there before Nick falls over? Nick, coffee."

Wow, he can see why they keep this kid around.

* * * * * *

By the time Patrick arrives, Nick's about two run-throughs past the point of needing a break. He's gone from refusing to acknowledge the engineer by facing Panic while he sings to focusing on the door beyond the glass almost to the exclusion of everything else. The second he sees a trucker hat coming in that door his headphones come off so fast he nearly gives himself whiplash. He bounds through the door and descends on Patrick.

"Woah!" Patrick's probably unprepared for being literally swept off his feet but it's been too fucking long and with the subject of the song, Nick is going to need _lots_ of hugs today.

"Hi," he says softly into Patrick's neck. Somewhere behind them the engineer has called a break and it's possible Pete Wentz is in the vicinity, but Nick's pretty much tuned everyone else out.

"Hey you," Patrick replies, equally gently. "Can I be back on the ground, please?"

Nick lowers him reluctantly, but once Patrick's feet touch the floor, his grip on Nick only tightens. "Yeah, that part you're not allowed to stop yet."

Eventually they do have to separate most of the way, but not without one very quick kiss - Nick's never been good with making out in public, and he knows Patrick likes an audience even less. Pete leads the chorus of "awww"s and fake gagging, but even he doesn't seem actively threatened, so Nick laughs with them.

"We brought breakfast!" Pete gestures expansively at Marcus, who is filling up the doorway, his arms full of McDonald's bags. "Oh, and Marcus wants to kill you for some reason, Nicky."

Nick groans and attempts to hide behind Patrick. "You saw the guest list for tonight, didn't you?"

"Part of my job." Marcus reminds him.

"For the record, totally not my idea. Please don't beat me up, Patrick wouldn't like it."

"What am I supposed to do when A.J. gets all up in Patrick's face, huh?"

"Swat him like a fly." Pete suggests gleefully. "You don't work for him anymore, you work for us."

"If you get Marcus to break our A.J., Brian's gonna kick your ass, Wentz."

"Pete, do not make me have to save your ass from Brian Littrell. There isn't enough money in the _world_." Marcus declares.

"Oh God, don't say that." Patrick warns. "He'll just take it as a challenge."

* * * * * *

Watching Nick eat breakfast, Patrick can tell that he's tense. How much of it is post-promo tour, pre-album launch, lack of sleep tension and how much is entirely due to the song they're about to record, he has no idea. Nick hasn't said much to Patrick about what the song means to him. Patrick wishes he was better at backrubs or something.

"How much sleep did you get last night?" he asks.

Nick just shrugs. "An hour or two, I guess. I don't sleep too good on planes unless I'm sick. I got through an entire European promo tour without catching the deathflu, that's good enough for me."

"He's in good voice." Ryan confirms from where he's sharing a two-person couch with Pete and Brendon. "We've been rehearsing since he got here."

"What, an hour and a half ago?"

"Bout that."

Patrick reaches over to flick Nick's ear. "You dork. I know this is a small studio, but there's a couch here. You could have napped!"

"Told him that," Ryan says quickly. From Ryan it's almost defensive.

"I needed the rehearsal time." Is Nick's only explanation. Patrick is not used to this level of terseness from Nick. He opens his mouth to suggest that maybe Nick should call up one of his guys to come out, but Nick is giving him a "please don't push this" look, so he backs off.

Everyone's about finished their food, so Patrick stands up, stepping away from the boyfriend role a little and into the producer role. "Okay. Pete, you've had your time with your boys. Your options are - head out with Marcus and get back here to collect us for soundcheck, or wander the studio for the next... four hours."

"I can't sit and listen?" Pete protests "C'mon guys, I won't say anything."

"We have met you, Pete." Brendon says, sounding almost tentative, and definitely not as teasing as he would otherwise. It's the first thing Brendon's said since they arrived and that seems to occur to Pete. He sighs and pushes himself off the couch.

"Shouldn't have left Hemmy with Joe. I'm gonna knock every hour and make sure you fuckers are taking breaks, all right?"

"Yes boss." Jon salutes him.

"Let's go Marcus, I left some shit in the car."

As the door closes behind Marcus and Pete, Patrick looks at Nick. "Once more with you in with the band, or do you want to get in the vocal booth now?"

"One more in with them." Nick decides. "No offense to Geoff there, but I want you checking levels and stuff before we start."

"Of course." Patrick nods. Ryan leads the way back into the main studio, leaving Patrick alone with Geoff the engineer and about a million buttons. It's time to go to work.

* * * * * *

Part of the problem with using an actual band as his session musicians is that they're not used to just adapting to the whims of whatever artist and producer they're working for. They have their own dynamics and way of doing things. If it wasn't for the fact that Ryan's a really good guitarist, Patrick would have thrown him out of the room half an hour ago. As it is, he's thinking about duct tape on his mouth.

"Ryan!" He interjects, jabbing at the PA. "Brendon was doing just fine in that section until you stopped playing."

"But Patrick, I really think..."

"Ryan..." Patrick rubs the bridge of his nose. "I know it feels like you're putting down a Panic! at the Disco track, but you're really, really not. You put this song aside because it's not a Panic song. You've got to _trust me_ that I have a good idea of how to get the most out of this song. And one of the things I agree with you about it, is that it's never going to work as a Panic song."

Ryan's shoulders slump. His main difficulty, Patrick reflects, sympathizing a little, is in giving up control. He can take direction, when he did a solo for _The Takeover, The Break's Over_ he'd laid down his part pretty quickly, all things considered. But Panic is very much _Ryan's_ band, and here he is with that band, working on a song he didn't even help write, that's going on someone else's album. Somehow, Patrick doesn't think volunteering to lay down the guitar track himself would help anything.

"Okay guys. Let's take a break." Maybe one of the others will be able to get through to him without Patrick sitting there listening. "Be back here in fifteen minutes."

Geoff heads out for a smoke break and Nick comes in from the vocal booth.

"Don't be too hard on him," Nick advises, grabbing Geoff's empty chair. "They're getting there. They're just not professional session musicians. It's gonna take some time."

Patrick can't help sighing.

"Or I can give up my thing of doing it live, and we can have everyone lay down their parts separately. That would probably help too."

"No, I like the feel of it like this," Patrick argues. "It's a huge contrast to how we did the other tracks, which is the point, right? To do this, organic and like... from the heart?"

"Pretty much." Nick wheels back to the flat of water bottles on the floor and pulls out two. "It's like..." He hands Patrick the other bottle, considering his words. "For me, it's part of what the song's about. Probably a little for Brendon, too, but I think this is mostly me."

Patrick doesn't want to pry, but Nick seems almost ready to talk. "How come?" He asks, trying to sound casual. "I know for Brendon just making music the way he wants is part of what he's talking about with the song - breaking free of boundaries and everything."

"I know I've been sort of shutting down on you," Nick starts, looking apologetic. "I don't talk about my family's crap much. Too much of it ends up in the papers as it is, y'know?"

"Haven't really been looking," he admits. Not that he hasn't been tempted to just put "Nick Carter" or "Carter family" into Google and see what comes up, but he's managed to restrain himself so far. "I avoid most of the rags, it keeps me from feeling like I should lecture Pete for shit he probably hasn't even pulled anyway."

Nick's laugh is bitter. "See, the problem with my family is that most of it's true. We're so fucked up, you can't make this shit up."

He stands up, starts to pace for half a second before grabbing Patrick by the hand and hauling him over to one of the couches. Nick stretches out lengthwise and arranges Patrick on top of him. It's a nice position, but the tension in Nick's body and the slightly too-tight grip he has on Patrick don't allow Patrick any delusions that they're here to make out.

"My parents... well, mostly Mom, but Dad just sort of sat back and let her... always wanted at least one star in the family. I don't even remember how old I was when I started going for auditions, or when I got my first vocal coach." He snorted. "So if I was really rebelling, I'd quit music, go to college and like, become a doctor or something."

Patrick waits in silence, stroking Nick's forearm to let him know Patrick is paying attention.

"But Brendon's right. I can't... no matter how sick and twisted they were... and believe me, they were pretty sick and twisted sometimes... what they did _made_ me. I took a lot from my Boys, and AJ lets me borrow his mom when I need her, but I still... I lost 40-something pounds and it doesn't seem real sometimes because the last time my Mom ever commented on my looks it was to hope to God I would stop being clumsy, grow out of my acne and lose the gut."

Sometime later, Patrick will take the time to get angry on Nick's behalf. Possibly he'll need to talk to AJ and Howie tonight. Right now, all he can deal with is that Nick's hurting and needs comfort. He twists a little in Nick's embrace, reaches up and kisses his cheek. Nick looks down and manages a weak smile before kissing Patrick's nose.

"So... I was going to explain about the music. Um. When Backstreet first started, all we had was a backing tape. It wasn't until like, our third album that we even had real instruments on most of the album tracks. Everything was computers this and digital that... it's no wonder we used to surprise the heck out of reporters and radio DJs when we just opened up and sang a cappella." Nick's smile breaks out, sunshine through the clouds. "But we always had that. The five of us can sing like nobody's business, man."

"I moved out of my parents' house before we recorded the third album, _Millennium_. So I guess when I think of them and music, what I really think of is all those digital, computerized tracks. Doing it like this, it's... doing it my way."

"How old were you?" Patrick asks into the silence.

Nick bites his lip. "Um. Younger than Spencer."

"Fuck, Nick." It's all he can say for a moment. Then, "If you can get your label to sign off on me as a producer, we'll do it all like this, okay?" It'll take a little longer, cost a lot more money, but it's something he can give Nick, and it's the least he deserves.

* * * * * *

Nick doesn't know if it has anything to do with their little talk, but after Panic come back from their break, Patrick starts letting Nick talk to them when he wants a change in sound for this part or that part. It helps. Patrick's mostly been talking in music, Nick can talk about how he wants things to feel. It seems to help Panic let themselves try new stuff. It helps Nick too, gives him a little more control over how the song is going, makes it easier to let go and just sing. When Pete lets himself in without knocking to announce it's time for soundcheck and lunch, they've actually got two takes Nick thinks sounded like they could be keepers.

Patrick looks optimistic. "I'm calling a break for the day, guys. Nick and I will listen to what we've got tonight and then..."

"If we decide this one's in the can, would you guys mind doing a different track tomorrow?" Nick blurts. From what he said earlier, Patrick probably wouldn't mind too much...

Despite the earlier frustrations, the four boys exchange glances and then nod. "Yeah, sure." Brendon says.

"You have one in mind, Nick?" Patrick asks. "I can email them the track. Not," he says, looking threatening, "that I'm guaranteeing you're off the hook for this one yet."

"_Safe Haven_." Nick tells him. Patrick nods, understanding. It's their song from start to finish, the one about the ocean. Nick would happily give Patrick total credit for it, but Patrick was careful to use some of Nick's exact phrases, and Nick was the one who finally came up with the rhythm parts.

"Sure, okay. If this ends up on the internet, I'll kill each of you slowly, got it?"

"Yes sir, Mister Stump, sir!" Brendon snaps off some sort of salute before turning smartly on his heel and marching out the door.

Nick hangs off of Patrick, watching over his shoulder as he downloads the last of the day's work to his laptop. "Thanks," he mutters into his ear. He's been meaning to say it since Patrick made the arrangements for studio time for this track, the first time one of his solo tracks has seen the inside of a real studio since 2004.

"For what?" Patrick cocks his head at him, looking honestly confused, as if taking time out of his tour schedule to work with Nick is no big deal.

Nick squeezes him tight. "For being you."

Patrick smiles, and Nick knows he gets it. Then the smile transforms into a smirk. "You're just trying to rack up brownie points, so I don't kill you after your bandmates are through giving me the third degree tonight."

Nick laughs. "You got it, dawg."


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Patrick meets AJ and Howie. AJ and Howie meet Panic. Marcus picks a side.

Normally when Patrick gets out of the studio it takes him a few hours to get his head out of the music and back to the real world. But this time he's got Pete chattering away about something in the front seat and Nick drowsing against him as if Patrick's a living pillow and really, reality's a pretty nice place right now.

He indulges himself a little, stroking his fingers through Nick's soft, thick hair. Nick just murmurs contentedly and snuggles closer.

"Are we dropping him off at the hotel?" Pete asks in a slightly more indoor voice.

"Nah." Patrick pets Nick some more. "I'll put him to bed on my bus, get him up for dinner."

"You guys look kind of awesome together, Patrick." Pete grins. "He's like a really big golden lab."

"Pete, I will break the iPhone."

"What?" But Pete's innocent act hasn't worked on Patrick in years. "Oh fine. Be that way. You're just bitchy because you're meeting the family tonight."

"Oh yes, absolutely. It has nothing to do with how pictures you send to people end up on the internet, and how Nick and I would like some fucking privacy."

"Dating a celebrity now, Ric. No such thing."

"But my best friend will do all he can to make sure that it's not him that tips off the press, am I right?"

"Yes, Mom."

* * * * * *

When Nick wakes up, he's alone. He's in a nice bed though, and it smells like Patrick, which is a bonus. He doesn't remember arriving at the venue and he really doesn't remember getting stripped down to t-shirt and boxers. It probably would have been a nice memory. He rolls over looking for a clock and finds his phone next to the bed, piled on top of his clothes. It's somewhere near dinner. He should get up. Instead he dials Kevin's number.

* * * * * *

Patrick is heading towards the bus to wake Nick when Marcus intercepts him.

"They just arrived." He says. "Want to get this over with?"

It's probably a good idea, and it's a better one to let Nick avoid the scene where his bandmates lay into his boyfriend, so Patrick follows Marcus up a few levels to where AJ and Howie are waiting for an escort.

"Mr. McLean, Mr. Dorough. If you'll just come this way..." Marcus says, teasing. AJ's jaw drops.

"Oh you sly motherfucker."

"Hi Marcus." Howie says cheerily.

"Now I really _am_ gonna have to kill this Patrick dude."

"AJ misses you," Howie continues as if nothing else has been said.

"Did Nick know about this? Because if Nick knew about this and didn't tell me, I'm going to kick his ass all around this arena."

"Is Nick around?"

"Dude, you know I'm not going to let you go anywhere without giving me a piggyback ride."

Once AJ is safely on Marcus' back, Patrick steps out of the doorway. "Hi. I'm Patrick."

* * * * * *

When Nick exits the bus, he's still feeling a little raw from talking to Kevin. Pete Wentz is about the last person he wants to see, especially when he's scowling like that. He wonders what he's done this time.

"Patrick's meeting with your boys." Pete announces, sounding supremely unimpressed. "Alone."

"Crap, they're here already?" There was stuff Nick had meant to say to Patrick beforehand, to coach him through the things AJ and Howie don't need to know, and the things they don't want to know. "Why didn't somebody wake me?"

"You think I was out here for my health, Carter?" Pete moves quickly and lands a slap upside Nick's head. "Go run interference. If they maim him you're dead."

"Ow!" Nick shies out of reach. "Hitting me doesn't get me to Patrick any faster, moron. Where are they?"

Pete gestures in an upwards motion. "Couple levels up. Grab a crew person, or one of Marcus' guys."

"On my way."

* * * * * *

Patrick's not sure if AJ prefers to examine him over Marcus' shoulder, or if Marcus is keeping him attached to his back by force. Howie's handshake is unnecessarily tight.

"Hey Patrick," he says, breezily. His eyes are dark and assessing. "Howie D. That's AJ McLean. Thanks for inviting us to your show."

It's like meeting a member of the mafia or something. Patrick didn't even know they were coming until a few hours ago, forget about inviting them, but he knows better than to contradict. "No problem. Have you guys eaten? It's dinner time around here."

"Where's Nick?" AJ demands.

"Sleeping." He's reluctant to tell them where. "He was pretty much out like a light once we left the studio."

"And you left him alone?"

The question is ridiculous enough to have Patrick counting to ten in his head, keeping hold of his temper. "I checked in on him a couple of times. I had work to do. I was about to wake him for dinner when you two showed up."

"Let's go." Howie decides. "He shouldn't wake up alone."

Patrick and Howie follow Marcus back down into the bowels of the arena.

"Listen," Patrick starts, trying to keep his tone even and a little conciliatory. "I appreciate that he's the youngest and that you've got to play overprotective bandmate, but... is there something I should know? Nick's not what I'd call fragile."

"Nick should not wake up alone after recording a song about _those people_." Howie says, jaw clenched.

Oh. Okay, Patrick's down with that. He knows about issues and triggers, except he's so used to applying the knowledge to Pete he'd forgotten they happen to other people. He quickens his step a little. "He told me a little about them today. Is there a reason they're both still breathing? If you need help hiding bodies, I'm pretty sure I know people. Or at least, I know people who would know people."

"Nick won't let us." AJ explains. "Brian's working on it."

From the few pictures and interviews Patrick had screened to give himself a little bit of background on these guys, Brian does not come off as the scary one. He's a Southern country boy with charm, manners and a solid Christian faith. Maybe Nick will explain later.

"Hey guys!" Nick hails them from further up the corridor. Howie gives Patrick a significant glance. He's not off the hook yet. "Can Patrick get a last meal before you grill him?"

"Thanks for ditching us!" AJ says, letting himself off Marcus' back. "Turned off your cell and everything. That's cold, man."

Nick makes a face. "You rode my ass the whole flight, what did you expect, dawg? I was going to give you directions to the studio so you could beat up on my boyfriend before I was done with him? Studio time's expensive."

"Oh I feel loved." Patrick grumbles.

Nick swoops down on him for a kiss. This is not the chaste little kiss Patrick got at the studio. This is harder, with a little bit of teeth. Nick's hand comes up to cup the back of Patrick's head, possessive but affectionate. "Hello."

"Jeez, Nick, we get it." AJ rolls his eyes. "We'll play nice, honest."

"Yeah like I believe that one. C'mon. Food."

* * * * * *

"Should we warn them about Panic?" Patrick asks just before they hit catering.

Nick grins at him. "What for? They weren't invited, and AJ's got Marcus anyway."

Patrick shakes his head and ducks into the room. Sure enough, the five of them have just grabbed food when Brendon slides over to Patrick.

"Why hello there," he says, dripping faux-suave. "Patrick, won't you introduce me to your friends?"

Nick snickers. "Can we at least sit down, Brendon?"

"Why certainly. I believe my friends and I have procured seats just over there." Patrick's not entirely sure how this is going to go, but he's pretty sure it's going to go badly for somebody. Still, he lets Brendon herd them over to a corner where, not coincidentally, Spencer and Jon are picking food off each other's plates. Ryan is probably off somewhere rehearsing. Brendon should be too, but Patrick's not going to remind him until this trainwreck gets totally out of hand.

"So, what instrument do you play in Fall Out Boy?" Howie asks Brendon. Nick leans his forehead on the back of Patrick's neck in an attempt to muffle his laughter.

"I.. uh.." This throws Brendon completely off his stride. Patrick would take pity on him, but Nick has decided that they only need one chair between the two of them and trying to escape Nick's clutches takes all his concentration.

"Brendon belongs to us." Jon pipes up.

"Yeah, Brendon's ours. Fall Out Boy has their own singer." Spencer agrees. "Although sometimes we lend him out. Aren't you supposed to be rehearsing?"

"I was at soundcheck!" Brendon defends himself. "Wasn't I, Patrick?" This is true and Patrick nods to confirm it. He didn't sing much, but he was there.

"Okay, so who are you guys?" AJ asks, fairly unconcerned. "This ain't exactly our scene, we sort of need a road map."

"Nick, you haven't talked about us? I'm hurt!" Brendon staggers about with a hand on his heart. "I'm wounded. Did our time together mean nothing?"

"This," says Nick, having finally allowed Patrick his own seat. "is Panic! at the Disco. Or, most of them. Brendon, Spencer, Jon - AJ and Howie. They're helping me out with the album."

"Hey cool." Howie beams at them. "That's really nice of you guys."

"They're also fans." Patrick could tell Nick that the narrow-eyed glare Spencer levels at him means trouble later, but really Nick probably knew that going in.

"Not me so much," Jon says. "But they're working on me. Are you guys sticking around? Ryan will be pissed if he misses you."

"We're gonna be here for a while." AJ confirms. "We need to have a talk with Patrick."

"Ah yes, band solidarity." Brendon nods. "Threaten the interloper. Very cool."

"Brendon," Patrick warns. "I'm pretty sure your boss likes me better than you."

"Oh! Um. Right. Well, be nice to Patrick. He's a nice guy."

"Brendon," Spencer says kindly. "Go rehearse."

"Yes! All right! I will see you gentlemen later!" And then he's bouncing off presumably to find Ryan or to find the lyrics to the songs he's going to guest on tonight.

"You know who he reminds me of?" AJ says, watching Brendon go.

"Please don't say me." Nick groans.

"Not you. You never managed to pull off "smooth" for more than a second or two at the age I'm thinking of. But little baby Timberlake all hopped up on Pixy Stix..."

"Yeah, I could see that." Howie nods.

"Please don't tell him that." Spencer begs.

* * * * * *

"Okay, not to sound like a total fanboy," says Spencer, leaning forward. "But since the album's dropping in a couple of days... what's it like?"

"You haven't shared it around?" Nick asks Patrick. He kisses him on... well, on the hat. "Excellent."

"You have the album?" Howie and Spencer chorus, not quite hiding Patrick's mumbled, "Well, Pete has it too."

Pete is clearly an exception to all rules of secrecy where Patrick is concerned and Nick's accepted that, so he lets it slide, instead answering Howie.

"I sent him the album a couple weeks ago, when we got the final cut." He says, not liking where Howie's expression says this is going. He tightens his arm around Patrick's shoulders. "He's my producer, D. I wanted some feedback."

"Nicky, seven tracks leaked off the album. Why didn't you tell us..."

"Yeah because the guy who's in a band and had an entire album leak weeks before it dropped would totally do that to somebody else." Nick can feel himself going red, and he needs to calm down but he cannot believe Howie is pulling this.

"For the record," Patrick drawls, putting a restraining hand on Nick's thigh. "I didn't do it. And Pete went on record with Blender that he didn't leak it either. He gave it a good review, though."

"Hey, you didn't tell me the interview went down!" Maybe if they just ignore Howie, he'll drop it. "You were there?"

"We all sat in on a phoner to make sure he didn't pussy out. They asked Pete what was in his iPod - pretty easy opening for your deal. I think he actually does like a couple of tracks."

"Cool." Nick leans in for a quick kiss to Patrick's cheek to express his approval.

"I can't believe Pete has the new Backstreet Boys record and he didn't even _tell_ us," Spencer is complaining. He's got his cell phone out and is texting rapidly.

"Brendon, Ryan and Spencer are probably the biggest Backstreet Boys fans Pete knows," Jon confides to AJ. Nick makes a note to write an extra special thanks to Spencer and Jon on his album notes. "If he didn't send even one track to them, you can pretty much guarantee he didn't leak it."

Jon's got possibly the best earnest face Nick has ever seen, possibly because he's not faking it. Most of the people Nick knows are so practiced at "earnest" or "innocent" that they look like they're faking even when they're not.

"Of course I didn't fucking leak your album."

Nick and Patrick exchange a look that means _this is not good_. Nick tilts his head back to look up at Pete. "I didn't think you did, dawg. Believe me I'da called."

"No seriously." Pete says, looking past Nick to his bandmates. "Where do you guys get off, walking into my tour, threatening my singer, and accusing me of totally shitty behaviour before you've even met me?"

He has a point, but Nick's waiting for the moment when the "my band against yours" lines get drawn. Patrick squeezes his thigh and tries talking Pete down.

"You remember how pissed and paranoid we all got when _Infinity_ leaked, Pete." He says carefully. "I'm sure they didn't mean anything by it, did you guys?"

AJ nods, looking sheepish. "We just don't know you dudes, is all." He shrugs. "It was a shock, hearing Nick had given you the album."

"Nick's not always very smart about who he hangs out with," Howie says doggedly. Nick's heard the sentiment before but to call him out about in in public...

"Fuck you, D. If you think for a second I would've done anything to jeopardize this album, then you really don't know me at all." In the back of his head, Nick knows this is something he should have warned Patrick about. Logically he can recognize that Howie's gone from "concerned bandmate" to "concerned ex-boyfriend", but whatever Howie's motives, if AJ doesn't step in soon it's going to get messy.

Instead of AJ, it's Marcus who suddenly moves to stand in front of Howie, blocking him from Pete. "Pete and Patrick are all right guys, Howie D. You have my word."

This, plus AJ's hand on Howie's shoulder, is enough to deflate Howie. He nods and holds his hands up in surrender. Nick stands, not waiting around for more. He turns to Pete. "Is your dressing room free?"

Pete's eyes widen, but after a look at Patrick, he nods. "Yeah sure, man. C'mon. You look like you could use another nap anyway."

Instead of Nick reaching for Patrick, it's Patrick reaching for Nick this time, insinuating himself under Nick's arm and hanging onto his waist as they walk down the halls towards Fall Out Boy's dressing room.

"Can you keep 'em out for a little while?" Nick requests, sinking down on a couch. "I gotta talk to Patrick."

"It's getting kind of close to show time, dude." Pete warns.

"Everyone else is okay," Nick assures him, feeling tired. "Just my guys. If Marcus can't take care of 'em, just stow 'em somewhere."

A mischievous grin flits across Pete's face. "I can handle that."

"Pete," Patrick warns, making room for himself next to Nick, his warmth already seeping through Nick's bones. "Don't get them so lost we can't find 'em after the show, okay?"

"Uh huh."

It's not the most reassuring answer, but Nick's too disappointed in his guys to care. After everything else today, he needed them to go easy on him, and they seem to have forgotten that. He pulls Patrick close.

"Sorry," He mumbles into Patrick's hat.

"It's okay," Patrick says gently. "They don't know me, they don't trust me. I get that."

"No, Howie was outta line." Nick sighs. "I didn't mean to sleep so long before the show. There's stuff I was gonna tell you."

"Like.." Patrick prods.

"Like Howie and I sort of had a thing." Much easier to say to Patrick's hat than to his face.

"Okay that sounds like something Pete would say. A thing... involving what, kissing? Sex?" Patrick seems remarkably calm. Not that Howie is in any way competition right now, but Nick appreciates the lack of drama.

"Comfort sex. Pretty often. It was like... five or six years ago? For most of one tour. While AJ was going down the bottle."

"Ah." Is all Patrick says, but he hugs Nick a little. "So that was Howie being, what? A little jealous?"

"I think he thinks he's got extra rights to me, or something." Nick tries to explain. "Maybe especially when there's a guy involved, but you're the first real important guy I've had since him, so I'm not exactly sure."

"Well, I'm glad that I'm important." Patrick says. He sounds pretty happy about it, so Nick feels it's safe to tip his hat up a bit, get a peek at his face. Patrick's smiling. "So is that the worst they're going to throw at me?"

Nick laughs weakly. "Yeah, probably. AJ's probably chewing Howie out right about now, and they'll be too embarrassed to say much more. Hey, if we're lucky they won't even stay around for the show."

"I've had three Backstreet Boys check me out now. You think I'm safe?"

"Hell no. Still gotta deal with Brian."

"Right, Brian." Patrick props himself up a little. "Explain to me how Brian's the scary one?"


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Patrick talks to Brian, Ryan Ross begs, studio hijinks ensue, and Spencer Smith is a genius.

When Patrick gets out of his admittedly long (real! hot!) post-show shower, Nick's already sacked out on the bed, dead to the world. It's disappointing, but Patrick can't blame him. He knows what hard-core jetlag is like. Nick used the live-show adrenaline to stay awake just long enough to get to a bed. Unfortunately Patrick's adrenaline is still pumping, thoughts and sounds going round and round in his head. He sighs and settles himself crosslegged next to Nick his laptop open on his lap. Time to see if today's sessions were as good as he thought they were a few hours ago.

It's not that much later when Patrick catches sight of a flashing light out of the corner of his eye. Nick's phone is ringing. Patrick's thought process only goes as far as "don't wake him up!" before he's got the phone to his ear.

"Uh, Nick's phone." He says, suddenly realizing that while answering the phone does stop the ringing, he now has to speak to someone.

"Hello there," says an amused, vaguely Southern voice. "This would be Patrick, right?"

Uh oh. "Brian?" Patrick asks warily.

"That's my name. What are you doing with Nick's phone, or should I not ask?"

"Nick's sleeping. I didn't want to wake him."

"All right. Well, maybe you can tell me how things went today, then." These Backstreet Boys are generally sneaky. They start out all civil and polite, but everything's a test. Patrick's learning.

He glances down at Nick's deceptively peaceful-looking face. "You mean in the studio, or when he had his ex-boyfriend go off on him for sending me a copy of _Unbreakable_?"

"He did what?"

Patrick sighs. "Look, we work together..." he starts, trying to pull together a speech on short notice.

"Not Nick," Brian brushes him off. "I figured he'd be sending the album to you. What's D done this time?"

"He pulled a line I heard from your cousin." Patrick's fairly sure that Brian's the one who's Kevin's cousin. Intra-Backstreet dynamics are a lot easier for Patrick to follow than intra-Fueled by Ramen dynamics are for Patrick to explain. "Something about Nick not being too smart about who he hangs out with."

"Wonderful." Patrick can almost hear the wheels turning. "I'll get Kevin to sort him out. Or maybe his fiancee." Evil by delegation. It's a trick Pete uses, although usually with less talking and more breaking of bones. "But Nick's asleep now?"

"Still jet-lagged, I guess. Napped on my bus most of the afternoon, and then a little after dinner."

"I slept most of the day away myself." Brian chuckles. "Did he eat any?"

"I brought him breakfast. He slept through lunch. He had something at dinner but that was when your bandmates arrived."

"And where is he now?"

It's a weird question, but easy enough. "In bed next to me."

"Good." It's gentle and approving. "I usually let Nick take care of himself. He's a big boy, you know, and he learns from his mistakes. Frack ain't big on regrets. But that song you sent him. It means the world to him, and it scares the shit out of the rest of us."

"Why?" Patrick knows better than to call anything "just a song" but surely it's good for Nick to face his demons, claim a little closure.

"Nick likes to pretend his parents have stopped paying attention to every move he makes. But as soon as this song gets out, there's going to be noise." Brian sighs. "And then his brother and sisters will take sides and Nick's going to be stuck in the middle again. We try to be there for him, we really do. But as I guess you saw tonight, we're not always perfect at it, and we do have our own lives. If that song gets out, Nick's going to need somebody who's on his side. If you walk away from him and leave him to deal with everything by himself..." Steel slips into Brian's voice now. "You will live to regret it, Patrick Stump, I promise you."

There's nothing Patrick can say to that, nothing he can promise. He hopes he'd be able to stand by Nick, even as just a friend. But he knows the spotlight does funny things, and he's not big on making promises he can't keep.

"I hear you," he says finally.

"You get some sleep, Patrick. Ain't any use to anyone if Nick's awake tomorrow and you ain't."

* * * * * *

Patrick really stands no chance of not waking up the next morning, not when Nick's mouth is hotwarmwet around him and the suction is just _perfect_ and while Patrick can't actually _think_, he's sure as hell awake. Nick swallows, bless him, before kissing his way up Patrick's body, removing his t-shirt as he goes.

Afterglow or not, Patrick can't help tensing a little when Nick settles down on top of him, that first moment of skin-to-skin contact. He knows that Nick's had weight issues, but Nick _now_ is pretty damn fit, and Patrick is pretty much not. But Nick just kisses him until he's got no brain cells left to deal with the issue.

"Morning hot stuff." Nick says, low and teasing, his hips rolling slowly into Patrick. "Sorry I crapped out on you last night."

"Forgiven," Patrick manages, a whole three syllables.

"So I figure we've got a couple of options." Nick leans down to bite at Patrick's ear lobe, sending sparks skittering through his body. "One, we stay here and make use of this awesome, big comfy bed."

"Mmmm." Is about all Patrick can manage, slowly moving from post-sex stupid to too aroused to speak.

"Two," Nick pauses to bite at Patrick's jaw, before moving on to suck at the throat Patrick can't help but bare. "We check out the equally awesome, kind of huge shower this room has going on."

"Nrrrgh," Which would translate into, "Moving bad" if Patrick could spare the effort.

"Now, we pick one of those options and there's totally a chance we'll be able to eat the breakfast the hotel sent up and get to the studio on time." Nick pushes himself up a bit, just enough that Patrick tries to arch up and restore the lost body contact. "Or I could fuck you in this bed, feed you breakfast nice and slow, jerk you off in the shower, and be at least an hour late to the studio." Nick grinds down hard and dirty and Patrick clutches at his shoulders as starbursts go off behind his eyes.

* * * * * *

Patrick can't really find it within himself to feel guilty when he and Nick end up late to the studio. It's not as if Panic didn't need the time to rehearse _Safe Haven_ anyway. Pete's sitting on the floor of the studio playing with Hemmy, and Geoff looks vaguely relieved when they come in.

"Brendon said I could stay," Pete informs them, hugging Hemmy to himself as if to ward off anything Nick might say.

"What are we working on today, Yoda?" Nick asks, kneeling down to greet Hemmy. Despite the fact that Nick must smell like Patrick, and Patrick is, in Hemmy's opinion, an evil shoe-hoarder, Hemmy deigns to let Nick scratch behind his ears.

"Didn't I tell you?" Patrick's sure he meant to have that conversation. He knows it got delayed until the ride over and then... oh yes, then he got distracted by Nick's neck, so it's possible the music-related conversation went by the wayside. "Oh, uh. Yeah. Yesterday's stuff was pretty good. Geoff and I..." He's stopped by Nick's expression. "Right, Geoff and you and I, will have to do some editing, but I think we're good to move on."

"You can stay." Nick tells Pete. He stands up, coming face to face with another set of puppy eyes. Three of them actually. Brendon, Spencer and Ryan clearly have a request to make. Patrick does a double-take and fumbles for his phone. Sadly, Ryan catches the movement and the wonder of Ryan Ross looking adorably needy disappears before photographic evidence can be produced.

Brendon's version is much less "pleeeease" and a lot more "I'm adorable, you love me, you can't possibly say no, right? right?" It involves bouncing. Spencer is using his hips to great effect and looks as if he's considering what Nick's price would be, exactly.

"Um?" Nick says, backing up a step.

"So, Nick." Spencer says, direct and matter-of-fact, if slightly lower than usual. "We were thinking. We're helping you out, doing you a favour, right?"

"Patrick," Nick glances at him. "You didn't tell me I'd have to sell my soul to get them to help out."

"Oh nothing so drastic." Ryan chimes in.

"We just want the new album." Brendon explains with his best charming grin. Patrick's seen many versions and Brendon's definitely pulling out the big guns.

Patrick watches the muscles in Nick's back relax. Nick shakes his head and laughs. "First off, if y'all really were that interested there are seven tracks floating around the internet and I guarantee they're not that hard to find."

"We've been concentrating on our album." Ryan protests. "Not surfing the internet."

"Not for music anyway," Jon teases.

"And second, I don't have it here."

"But after we're done?" Ryan presses.

"After you're done, we are staying here to edit." Patrick interjects.

"Right. Plus, I promised I wouldn't share it around."

"We wouldn't leak it!" Brendon protests.

Patrick sees the look in Spencer's eyes and decides to cut the potential mutiny of his session musicians off at the pass. "I have it on my laptop. When we're done for the day, you guys can listen while we work. No downloading, uploading, or burning to CDs. Sound fair?"

Nick nods. "Yeah, I'm down with that."

"Excellent!" Brendon's halfway to the booth already. "What are we waiting for? We've got work to do, people!"

* * * * * *

Recording for _Safe Haven_ is a longer process than it was with Brendon's song. Panic has only had time for two or three run throughs - they're mostly working off of sheet music. Spencer's not even working with his own kit. It's a zombie version with congas and a different bass drum that Patrick got after making some quick calls yesterday. He's a pro, but it's throwing him off just a little. Patrick's still thinking he might need to find someone to play kettle drums over the bridge.

Still, it's a lot more fun. Nick's relaxed and happy, cracking jokes from the booth and making faces at Patrick. Patrick has to call a halt at one point because he's laughing too hard to listen to what's going on. Somehow, they're all still getting enough done that it doesn't feel like anyone's wasting time.

Geoff is a trooper, basically ignoring the lunatics (and dog) working around him and making sure to keep the board running in case goofing off turns to something they might want to keep. It does, more often than not. Patrick feels a little sorry for Geoff, having to put up with all of them, but then he realizes that Geoff works with musicians all the time, and this is probably a pretty tame day on the job.

Pete even manages to be less of a distraction than Patrick thought he'd be. One of Nick's more ...interesting faces inspires Pete to whip out the iPhone and start taking pictures. After the first somewhat distracting flash, Nick agrees to let him keep going, as long as Nick gets to keep them for possible album art. Patrick can see that idea pique Pete's interest, although he's trying to hide it. He tries hard not to think about what that might mean for the next Fall Out Boy album.

Patrick's got at least three full takes of Nick's voice that he could probably use, and Panic are only a few takes away from perfect when Patrick registers the missiles. Pete has found a writing pad and is balling up one page at a time and launching them at Patrick's back. He manages to ignore them for two more takes, but when one ball smacks the glass hard enough to distract Jon, Patrick snaps.

"Pete, so help me god you had better have a good fucking reason for this!" He snarls, whirling around in his chair. Pete has his best "don't give _me_ attitude, Stump" face on. He points to the clock.

"It's half past one, slave-driver." He says, far too calmly. "Even slaves get fed once in a while. And Ryan Ross can't afford to skip a meal."

Patrick blinks up at the clock for a second before giving in. "Okay guys," he says into the PA, "your boss wants me to feed you."

He's almost proud when instead of cheers, he gets grumbles to the tune of "Just one more, Patrick, we swear we can get it!" Pete takes over the PA.

"I am paying for food, motherfuckers. If you don't get out here and decide what you want I'm buying you all fucking Hot Pockets."

The threat of tour food gets everyone away from their instruments and in to the control room to debate lunch.

"Options?" Pete asks, tapping a pen against the remnants of the notepad.

Spencer exchanges glances with Brendon and Ryan before nodding decisively and declaring "Port of Subs!"

"Oh, you're not predictable." Pete grumbles. "Patrick? Nick? Aren't we rock stars? Don't we deserve better than big-ass sandwiches?"

"Big-ass sandwiches sound fine to me, man." Nick says, leaning against the soundboard to play footsie with Patrick.

"Five to three, we win!" Brendon punches the air. "You can order online and stuff, if somebody needs the menu."

"Because the number's not programmed into all you fuckers' phones." Pete jabs his pen accusingly in their direction. "Besides, I count four to four."

"Jon Walker would never side against his bandmates." Brendon attaches himself, limpet-like, to Jon's side. "Jon, you love us best, right? Subs, Jon!"

"He loved us first," Pete argues. "I made you, Walker..."

"Sorry Pete," Jon shrugs a little, grinning at Spencer over Brendon's head. "I gotta live with these guys."

"Give it up, Pete." Patrick reaches for his laptop. "If you really want something fancy we can order room service tonight." It's not like Pete's palate actually runs towards the exotic, he's just being difficult. "Geoff, what do you take on your sub, dude?"

Ordering subs is a complicated business. Ryan and Spencer have their traditional favourites, while Brendon scrutinizes the menu in case something new has come up in the (Patrick's betting) no more than 48 hours since he last walked into a Port of Subs. Eventually he comes up with something elaborate that seems to satisfy him. Patrick's options are somewhat limited since he's still trying to stick with his latest foray into vegetarianism. Spencer advises Jon and Nick on choices, as Ryan butters up Pete enough to get him to order a sub composed of things Port of Subs actually serves. By the time they have the whole complicated order together, no one's in the mood to go back to recording for the forty-five minutes or so it will take for the food to arrive.

* * * * * *

Pete decides to take Hemmy for a walk, accompanied by Ryan and Jon. Brendon bounces off to God-knows-where. Spencer goes back to fiddle with his drum kit some more, and Geoff goes out for a cigarette. This leaves Nick and Patrick sitting in the control room, eyeing one another. Without any other witnesses, Patrick seems willing to let Nick push a lot further with the footsie, although Nick can't really do much without leaning back against the board and potentially breaking something. Still it's nice to stand there in silence, one foot up on Patrick's calf, his ankle trapped between Patrick's feet, swaying a little as Patrick swivels in his chair, eyes dancing behind his glasses.

Nick's entertaining fantasies of hitting record, shoving Patrick into the vocal booth and going to his knees when something Spencer's doing with the drums catches his ear. Normally, when faced with a short amount of alone time with his long-distance significant other, Nick doesn't let himself get distracted by music, but his long-distance significant other is Patrick, and he notices when other people notice music.

Patrick lets go of Nick's ankle and rolls closer, leaning around him to speak into the PA.

"Hey Spence, try that again?"

Spencer looks up, bemused, but obediently runs through the last sequence he'd played.

"Do you think... " It sounds right, sounds _familiar_, which is impossible... but Patrick's already turning the board back on, and gesturing to his laptop.

"One more time, Spencer. Actually, run through it three times, with a little less snare on the second and some cymbal work on the end. "

Which is good, good, Patrick's thinking along the same lines, and Nick is pulling up that one song they'd abandoned weeks ago because even though the words were good, nothing really sounded right with them. But Spencer's way more into syncopation as a drummer than either Nick or Patrick. Panic, from what Nick's heard, has some really interesting beats.

"Here, there's a cord in the case..." Patrick sort of flails at him, but Nick hands him what he wants and then Patrick's taking over the computer, feeding Spencer's beat into Garageband. Spencer's clearly befuddled - Nick takes pity and waves at him to come in while Patrick works his magic.

"Yeah." Nick nods along. "Yeah. Keep that for the verses... I'll have to tweak the verses so they scan better, or at least, re-record them, we'll see..."

"But the bridge *works* now," Patrick continues, excited. "The bass line fits much better with that... maybe change up the piano a little..."

It means more work, probably in the middle of launching _Unbreakable_ but Nick is bouncing now because they have song number twelve and they're so close to done he can fucking taste it. He grabs Spencer and smacks a kiss to his forehead.

"Spencer Smith, you're a genius."


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Unbreakable_ launches. Nick's album, not so much.

Nick calls Patrick from the launch party. He's a little tipsy, and probably louder than he should be when talking to his boyfriend on the phone while there are still press around, but he's having fun, and he's happy, and he wants to share with Patrick.

"Hey Nick, how's the party?" Patrick asks.

"Oh it's great!" He says, gesturing wildly. "At least half of these people hate us and are totally hoping to see the album go down in flames."

"And this is... fun?" Patrick sounds confused.

"Oh, right." Nick pulls his somewhat fuzzy thoughts together. "Yeah, it's kind of a game. We totally know who likes us and who's going to talk shit about us no matter what, so we like to prev... prov... give them stuff to talk about. We take bets on how they'll spin it."

"Like now?" Patrick guesses. ""Carter disses other Boys, break-up imminent!""

"Ha!" Nick barks out a laugh. Okay possibly he's a little past tipsy. There's a drink in his other hand. He deposits it on a nearby table. Time to go hide in a corner for a little while until he remembers which stupid things he's not supposed to do tonight. "Yeah, like that."

"Interesting." Patrick sounds amused. Nick likes the warmth in his voice, the way it curls against his ear and makes him smile almost without realizing.

"How's tour life?"

"Hasn't much changed in the couple days since you last saw me."

"Oh fuck off, I miss you. I'm allowed." Finding no unoccupied corners, Nick leans up against the wall, one eye out for the rest of his Boys. Even Kevin's here tonight, which is pretty sweet.

"If I start missing you now I might go a little nuts," Patrick admits. "No break until the holidays is brutal."

"Six weeks, maybe seven." Nick says, trying but probably failing to sound breezy. "Over before you know it. "

"Sure."

"So, you're not going to tell me how our stuff is going?" He made Patrick swear not to talk to him about the album until two weeks after the album launch, but Nick's pretty sure Patrick won't last.

"I thought this was a party night, dude?" It's a really weak excuse because this is Patrick and Patrick works on music without even noticing half the time. But maybe...

"You were totally waiting by the phone, dawg. Admit it!"

"Yeah, maybe a little."

 

* * * * * *

When the first week sales numbers come out for _Unbreakable_, Patrick sends Nick a text.

_crowds are won and lost and won again but our hearts beat for the diehards_

Some hours later he gets a message back

_stop stealing pete's words_

Quickly followed by

_top 5 in 6 countries, top 10 in 8 more._

So he calls.

"Lotta diehards."

Nick laughs at him. It's a little wistful, but he sounds mostly okay. "They're the best."

"Are we gonna play the "my fans are better than your fans" game?" The idea of having Nick on the phone for hours is tempting, but he'd prefer more entertaining conversation.

"My album just came out, give me a break."

"You have some loyal fans." Patrick concedes.

"Thank-you."

"So when can I grab you for some celebratory sex?" Apart from the "We're not talking about the solo album until halfway through November" thing, Nick's been pretty quiet about his schedule.

"Not sure," Nick sighs, sounding like he's stretching. Oh. Patrick was unaware Nick was near a bed. Patrick's brain goes south and his mouth goes dry. "What kind of sex do you think this deserves?"

"Um..." No, seriously. _South_. If Nick expects Patrick to lead the phonesex, he's going to be very disappointed. So is Patrick, for that matter.

"Because I'm pretty happy here." Nick's voice lowers, smooths out. "Add that to seeing you, and I'll bet I'd be all over you, if you randomly turned up in my bedroom right now."

"Guh." Andy looks up as that noise escapes Patrick's mouth and it's really time to move back to the bedroom.

"I can't decide if I'd go straight for your dick or if I'd slam you up against the nearest wall."

Patrick stumbles, but manages to keep from falling into his fake door. He jerks it open and slams it closed, making damn sure to lock it before leaning up against it, panting. The bed has never seemed so far.

"I think I'd like that," Nick says, slow and speculative. Patrick can just imagine Nick's fingers on his own cock right now, stroking slowly, savouring. Fuck the bed. He fumbles with his fly one-handed.

"Yeah," And oh god, that tone of voice does _things_ to Patrick. He squeezes hard to keep from coming rightthefucknow. "I think I'd really like to shove your pants down around your ankles, pick you up by those _thighs_, God, Patrick..." His voice cracks in a way that is very fucking satisfying to Patrick. His boyfriend thinks he's hot.

And then what he actually said catches up to Patrick's brain and holy fuck. Patrick's somewhat aware that he's making sounds, but most of him is focused on not coming until Nick finishes painting this picture, or comes first.

Nick's breathless now, really jerking himself off. "Push you up against the wall, feel those thighs tight around me, your heels against my back and just... fuck, Patrick!"

It's the high, desperate tone as Nick comes that takes Patrick right over the edge. When he regains awareness of his surroundings, he's on the floor, a complete, if pretty happy, mess. He still has a hold of his phone. He should probably check the case for cracks.

"So um... when was that?" He manages to ask, still out of breath.

"Let's make it a surprise." Nick says, and hangs up.

Patrick is dating one seriously evil fucker.

* * * * * *

On November 13th, precisely two weeks after _Unbreakable_ drops, Nick opens up his laptop to find a couple of emails from Patrick with all the stuff they'd worked on in Las Vegas. The only thing left to do is lay down some changes to the vocal track on the twelfth song.

Nick sits back, staring at the screen.

It isn't as if he didn't know what needed to be done when he left Las Vegas. He's even made sure to have equipment with him, so he doesn't have to go hunting for a decent mic.

Still, Nick suddenly really wants to go for a walk or something. Put this off a couple days. They've only got a couple of weeks to rehearse before hitting the Jingle Ball circuit, followed by Howie's wedding, which leaves them another man short until just a week before they fly off to Japan. He really should just leave his solo stuff until they're on the road and there's downtime to be filled on the bus.

Forget that he's got the time right now and AJ's off preparing for the release of his solo record. It just, wouldn't be right. It's not a good time. He closes the e-mail and starts going through the rest of his inbox.

Nick's e-mail organization is pretty simple. He deletes things he doesn't want to keep and leaves the rest of them in his inbox. Half the screen is previously-read emails. About half of those are from Patrick. When he realizes what he's looking at, he knows waiting till January isn't an option. He's going to see Patrick at least once before he leaves, and it's not like Patrick's going to leave him alone until then.

Nick spends the next two hours standing in the shower with the laptop propped on the sink, doing take after take until he gets what he needs.

The next day on lunch break, he sends the disk to Jive's A&amp;R, before emailing Patrick with the finished product. It's done.

* * * * * *

"What did he do to you?"

Nick looks up at Brian from his comfortable sprawl on the floor of the rehearsal space, from which he is not moving until someone brings a wheelchair. Possibly a forklift. Their choreographer is _Satan_. Probably a friend of Johnny's.

"What?" He asks, genuinely perplexed. Brian is standing over him, looking fierce and protective, and if it wasn't for the fact that Nick hasn't had the energy to annoy even Howie very much, and therefore Nick is probably not the target of Brian's anger, Nick might re-think that moving thing. "Who?"

"Your asshole boyfriend."

"Hey!" And okay an insult like that, especially from Brian, who doesn't use language like that unless he _means_ it, does motivate Nick into moving enough to swat at Brian's ankle. "Lay off Patrick, man."

At this, Brian's shoulders drop and he relaxes enough to sit cross-legged by Nick's head. "Damn. He was the only one I could think of."

"Seriously, Frick, I have no idea what you're talking about."

"You're... off, Nick. You're workin' hard, don't get me wrong, man. But you're working at more than just the singing and the dancing. You ain't even laughed at my jokes for a couple of days now."

"That's because your jokes aren't funny." But the uneasy feeling in the pit of Nick's stomach that has been there on and off since he sent the demos to Jive, comes back with a vengeance. Patrick hasn't asked about it yet, he must know Nick would say something if he'd heard, but it's a big pink elephant in their conversations. It's been five days with no word. A&amp;R doesn't wait that long when they're dealing with a star artist.

"C'mon, Frack. You c'n talk to me." And now Brian looks a little hurt. Brian's maybe not the last person Nick wants to talk to about this, but he's pretty low on the list. He can't talk to the Boys about it. AJ and Howie's solo albums aren't going to be released until next year. Nick's... well luck wasn't exactly a factor in getting _Now or Never_ out, not good luck anyway, but he shouldn't be whining.

That much he can say. "I don't want to whine," he explains. "I'll be okay."

"Okay isn't good enough." Brian says stubbornly. "Maybe I should call Patrick? If he's not the problem, and you can't talk to me..."

"Patrick knows what's going on. Sort of. Mostly." Patrick's been pretty good about keeping things light, telling tour stories and once letting Nick talk to Hemmy on the phone. He hasn't said a word about the music Nick knows he must be working on. For Patrick, that's hard. Nick can't wait to see him again, give him a piggyback ride instead of the thanks he's not sure he's going to be able to say if this doesn't work out.

"Maybe I should kick his ass after all."

"Hey, shut up. Not his fault." Nick pushes himself into a sitting position. "Promise me you'll be nice."

Brian still looks uncertain, so Nick ignores his aching muscles and tackles him. "Promise!"

Once Brian has cried Uncle and they both stagger off to Nick's car for some forbidden McDonald's drive-thru, Nick feels a little better. Maybe he'll get off his ass and call Jive tomorrow.

* * * * * *

"So I have an appointment with the label tomorrow."

For a horrible moment, Patrick has no clue how to respond to this. It's been a solid week since Nick's email telling him the CD had been UPSed to Jive. A _week_. He knows that Nick's first CD didn't sell as well as expected and that the label is unhappy with him. Nick Carter is still a bigger star than Patrick can properly conceive of, and labels do not make their stars wait.

Ranting won't help Nick, so Patrick tries to forget that Nick's not just one of his friends who managed to scrape a demo together. "Hey, at least they want to talk," he says, trying to sound encouraging.

"I guess." Nick sighs. "It's a phone conference. Gotta find somewhere to have it that's away from the guys - there's probably going to be yelling."

"Labels mostly yell about money," Patrick reminds him. "They didn't spend any on this. Or if you break equipment," he muses, remembering the many Talks they... okay mostly Pete and Joe, have gotten from Island Def Jam, and Fueled by Ramen before them, on the subject. "Okay so that's kind of money, too."

"Did I say who was going to be doing the yelling?" Hey, that's almost a joke. Patrick feels proud.

"Don't yell too much. Gotta keep those pipes in shape."

"Oh tell me about it." Nick groans. "Brian's _already_ coming down with a cold. I swear to God, Howie's _mainlining_ his tea."

"And AJ?" The rehearsal process Nick's been describing to him all week is completely out of Patrick's experience, all this dancing and worry about knees. It's fascinating. Patrick can't imagine moving around so much and still singing well. Nick tried to talk him through some breathing exercises over the phone but it didn't work out.

"One day Bone will give up smoking and it'll stick and we'll all die of the shock. Otherwise, he's good. Extra stretches and stuff."

"Huh." Patrick resists the urge to talk about the Gym Class Heroes album he's working on. Topic, topic, anything other than tomorrow. "What time is it tomorrow?" Ok that didn't work. "So I can cross my fingers."

"Uh... twelve thirty? We should be on break by then."

"I could call and you could three-way me in," he suggests. It's about the only way Patrick can think of to help by this point. Clearly his skills as a distraction have worn thin over the last week.

"That..." And hey, Nick actually sounds like he's thinking about it. "That would be sweet. But this is something I need to do by myself." Patrick resists the urge to bang his head against the wall. He thought they'd gotten past this part. Apparently not.

"You'll call me after?"

"Yeah, sure." Nick laughs and ow, this is undoing all Patrick's good work from earlier. "We can do an autopsy or whatever. It'll be fun."

Patrick takes a breath. "It's going to be okay, Nick." He's said it before over the course of the project, but this is the first time he's realized how much Nick doesn't believe it. Or maybe the first time he can't make Nick believe it. "Whatever they say, we'll figure something out."

"I've gotta go, Patrick. Have a good show." And just like that he's gone.

Patrick has never wanted Kevin Richardson's number before, but right now he thinks _somebody_ in that band ought to know what's happening tomorrow, and Nick doesn't want to talk about the album with the other three he's holed up with. For a moment he considers asking Pete to find it for him, before putting his phone away and getting started with his warm-ups. If things go down as badly as Nick seems to think, it's going to be obvious to his guys, and if it goes well Nick's going to want to sit on it until after AJ's album comes out. Patrick can wait. Just not much longer.

* * * * * *

"Hey Nick," Patrick's voice is quiet, tentative. Nick doesn't blame him. They haven't talked, emailed or texted in three days. He knew Patrick would call him eventually, but he's not ready for this. Maybe he shouldn't have picked up.

"Hey." He hasn't even called Kevin yet. He should. Howie's already avoiding him, AJ's been staring at him as if Nick's behaviour will make sense if he looks long enough, and Brian's been trying to catch him alone for a talk. So far, he's respected the closed door, but Nick knows it's just a matter of time. Gotta fix Nicky before they go on tour, after all.

"You talked to your label, right?"

"Uh huh."

"And?"

"And what?" Nick kicks at the carpet. "I told you how it was going to go, like two months ago."

"Crap," is Patrick's first reaction, almost too low for Nick to hear it. Then he gets loud and, angry. "Bullshit. That is complete and utter bullshit. Those songs rocked!"

It's almost nice to hear, but Nick's long past angry. He's tired, he's done, and he's got to make Patrick realize that.

"If you do say so yourself," he hears himself say. Ow. Okay maybe he's a little angry. "You gotta know that's not how it works, man. They let me do what I liked with the first album, it didn't pull the numbers they wanted, now they're teaching me a lesson."

"They're idiots."

"That's the business." It's sort of weird being a has-been and an international popstar at the same time, but welcome to the business.

"They didn't approve any of them?" Nick's starting to find Patrick's incredulity amusing, in a bitter sort of way. "Not one song. Not even..."

"Nope." He wonders if Patrick realizes that one had the least possibility of getting anywhere. He wonders if he should have explained at the start of all this exactly how unlikely it was that any of this was going to get rubberstamped. But he really wanted that last kick at the can, and Patrick's enthusiasm let him hope, sometimes, that this wasn't what would happen.

"Okay." Patrick takes a deep breath, audibly calming himself down. "What's our next step? An independent release?"

Next step? Nick almost pulls the phone away from his ear to stare at it. Who is this guy and why is he trying to beat his head against an obvious brick wall? "Patrick, I'm getting ready for a world tour right now. Tour of the world. I'm kind of busy, dawg."

"You weren't too busy to record it." Patrick insists.

"Yeah, well. Also, I still have a contract." Which is good and bad, he supposes, but it's not like they'd drop a member of the Backstreet Boys while there's a possibility they might get some more money out of him. Maybe if AJ's album does well, he'll get a phone call. Right now he can't make himself care. He's got too much work to do.

"I could get you on Decaydance..." Suddenly all the anger Nick has been pushing down so he can get through his days comes exploding out.

"Don't you fucking dare. If you even _try_ I swear to God, I'm never speaking to you again. I didn't do all this just to get a handout and get patted on the head by your asshole friends."

"Fuck, Nick." Actually that's about what he needs right now. Hard, angry sex. Too bad Patrick's on the other side of the country or something. "Don't you give a shit? I poured a hell of a lot of time and effort into this, and I didn't do it to have some idiot in a monkey suit tell me it's not worth releasing."

Nick wants out of this conversation. "You got paid either way, Stump."

"Oh, fuck you." The phone goes dead abruptly when Patrick hangs up. Nick closes his eyes. He'll deal with it later.


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which everyone talks to everyone else.

Patrick puts his phone down very carefully, because if he doesn't, he's going to throw it across the room.

"Motherfucking asshole son of a bitch idiot!" He seethes. It's only when someone grabs his arm that he even realizes he's throwing a punch.

"Concrete!" Andy yells urgently into his ear. It's about the only reason Patrick's next move isn't a swing at _him_.

Andy's seen him like this often enough to know better than to tell him to calm down. He also doesn't let go of Patrick's arm.

"On a scale of one to killing Pete..."

"Not Pete's fault." Patrick manages to spit out.

"Huh." This gives Andy pause. "That's kind of new and special."

It sort of is. Patrick doesn't usually get this mad at anyone but Pete and various members of his own family. Joe and Andy know where his buttons are, but they generally refrain from pushing them too hard.

"Doors just opened," Andy starts.

Fantastic, he's got over two hours before he can channel this into his Gibson. Assuming he can do it without breaking too many strings, or possibly snapping the neck right off.

"Maybe Joe will lend you Hemmy?"

Patrick stares at Andy. Hemingway doesn't quite hate him exactly, but he is a main reason they have two buses.

Andy shrugs. "Pets are supposed to be soothing. And it's better than letting you break something, man."

Breaking something would feel incredibly satisfying right about now. However, Patrick's willing to admit that he's currently not calm enough to guarantee that the something he breaks wouldn't be one of his own bones. He shrugs and starts out of the room in search of Joe, or whoever Hemmy's with at the moment.

"Do you need me to come with you, or are you okay to walk the halls without kicking everyone's ankles?"

Patrick ignores the comment and heads down the nearest corridor. He's not seventeen anymore. He can walk through a crowd of people without taking his anger out on random people.

"Hey man," Marcus, however, is not random people. "You heading outside?"

"Don't know." Patrick says, walking faster. "Fuck off."

"Not if you're going outside."

"Looking for Hemingway. Don't need another guard dog."

"Patrick..." Patrick senses rather than sees the hand coming for him and ducks away, yelling "DON'T TOUCH ME!"

The phrase seems to echo down the corridor as everyone in the vicinity stops to look. Patrick isn't sure if he'd rather die or hop on a plane and kill Nick Carter. Kicking the wall seems like a good third option. Just before Patrick decides he doesn't need toes anyway, Pete pokes his head out of Cute Is What We Aim For's dressing room.

"Patrick?"

"Fuck _off_, Pete." He stands there, shoulders hunched, studying his sneakers and wishing the entire world would just _go away_. Pete's stare burns into his skin for ages before he finally turns away.

"Okay, show's over. Some of you are totally supposed to be onstage in two minutes, so get moving, already!"

As sound and movement start up around them, Pete somehow slides under his radar, appearing right by his shoulder, one arm already around his waist. "C'mon Lunchbox. Let's get away from these assholes."

Somehow, Patrick isn't precisely sure how, Pete gets them onto his bus and curled up under his covers, still fully dressed, Hemingway snuffling at their feet.

"Tell me a bedtime story, Patrick."

"Pete, I have to start warming up in an hour." Patrick protests, although the anger from five minutes ago doesn't seem to be able to penetrate the cocoon of Pete's blankets and the solid warmth of Pete's hug. "We don't have time for a nap."

"Who said anything about a nap?" Patrick can hear Pete's grin, for all he's spooned up behind him. Bastard. "Tell me a stoooory. A story about a boy named Patrick and how his best friend Peter Pan saved the world and made him smile again."

"Have I mentioned lately what an asshole you are?"

"First time today. We haven't been spending enough time together. Now talk."

Patrick sighs the sigh of the long-suffering. He knows he was going to tell Pete eventually, but it would have been really nice to beat someone up first. Except Patrick's supposed to be the grown-up in this relationship, or so Pete keeps telling him.

"I talked to Nick."

"Dammit, I was starting to like that kid. Now I have to go kill him."

"Hey!" Patrick reacts automatically, before he realizes what he's saying. "I mean. Okay. He really pissed me off. But he maybe didn't mean it."

"Oh." Pete digs his chin into Patrick's shoulder. "I wouldn't know anything about that."

"No." Patrick can't help the fondness in his voice. Pete is _Pete_, after all. "No, I bet you don't." And because he can't not say it, not when it's just the two of them. "I don't know anything about that either."

"No experience whatsoever." Pete agrees. "So what'd he say?"

"He um..." And now he really doesn't want to say it. "It's possible he sort of implied the only thing I cared about while I was working on his stuff was the money."

Pete squeezes him tight. "I'm killing him. Just a little. You can beat him up after."

"_Pete_."

"Nobody gets to say that kind of crap to my Patrick but me." It's phrases like this that Patrick stores up from Pete, better than all the "I'm sorry"s and "I'll be better"s in the world.

"He had kind of a tough week."

"Don't care."

"I probably pushed some buttons I shouldn't have."

"La la la, still killing him."

"What will you do if I decide to forgive him?"

"Find more effective threats on his life. He clearly wasn't listening the last time."

And that does it. Patrick laughs and laughs. The smugness doesn't fade from Pete's expression until about halfway through their set.

* * * * * *

 

Nick has dug himself in so deep he isn't sure he even wants to try to start digging himself out again... except the label has to go and throw salt at him.

"Jive is coming down for a meeting about the tour. They're taking us all out to dinner."

"Mmm hmm," Kevin clearly thinks Nick is working up to a point, instead of hitting him with the point straight off. Of course he hasn't told Kevin everything.

He sighs and lets his head fall back against the couch cushions. "I sent them my new stuff about two weeks ago."

"Oh, Nick." Nick has to close his eyes against the sympathy in Kevin's voice.

"It took me a week to get an appointment for a phone call." He gnaws on his front lip, trying to keep his voice even. "And I had to call and ask for it."

By now Kevin knows what's coming. "How many did they...?"

"None of them. Not radio-friendly enough. Not exciting enough. Not..." Nick rubs the heel of his free hand against one eye. "Not good enough."

"Oh baby, you know that's not true." He stops there, and Nick is grateful. He's still not ready to hear someone sing the praises of the music that's never going to be heard by anyone else.

"I'm so tired of this shit Kev." He hugs his knee to his chest. "I'm supposed to sit down with these assholes tomorrow and be professional."

"And of course you haven't told the guys yet." Technically, Kevin's guessing. Except he knows Nick really fucking well.

"Maybe not?" There's a loose thread in the knee of his jeans. He picks at it idly.

"Do you want the "keeping it all in is unhealthy" speech from me, your therapist or AJ?"

"I might have... what do they call it? Inappropriate venting?" Nick swallows. "All over Patrick."

"Nickolas Gene."

"I know, Kev." Nick's lip is getting bloody. He prods at it with his tongue. "I know."

"You gotta tell 'em, Nick. You know they'll have your back. And they'll kick your ass if you let them walk into that meeting without knowing. And," Kevin sighs. "I'm too far away for a hug."

"Miss you, bro." There were days growing up where Nick just wished Kevin would leave him the fuck alone. He regrets every single one of them.

"Miss you too. Now go find that cuz of mine."

"Yes, dad."

* * * * * *

Nick means to go talk to Brian, honest he does. But he only wants to say everything once and calling a band meeting has old implications of Bad Things. Stupid friends, letting him come to them in his own time. It's so much easier to be prodded into saying things.

And he has to think of what to say. Think and plan, because if he blurts it all out... There's Howie's wedding, and the tour, and AJ's solo album, and Howie's solo album and what kind of guy does that make him, to say "I'm really happy about all of this, but..."? Nick's been That Guy before, the one that stands up and fucks up everybody else's plans with his own album. Sure, it's different his time - the worst he's going to do is harsh everybody else's glow - but just thinking about the conversation five years ago makes his stomach hurt. And that just makes it worse. Because he _should_ be able to go to them with stuff like this and expect to be supported and cheered up without question. Except they're only human and it's stupid to be mad at them for that but if he opens his mouth to talk about this, he might let himself be mad anyway.

So he puts it off, flipping channels on the TV, messing around online, checking his e-mail... A little reminder pops up from his organizer: "P. Stump, day off!!"

For a second he feels sharp relief. He thinks of calling Patrick, having someone to help him fix his words, someone he's allowed to be mad at the Boys with, someone who might actually get it if he talked long enough. Then he remembers what a stupid loser he was, what he _said_. He almost throws his laptop off the bed.

Except _that_ conversation would still be easier than the one he needs to have with the guys.

Nick picks up the phone.

* * * * * *

Patrick has found himself a record store and is happily flipping through the racks of vinyl when his phone rings. Apparently Pete's been playing with the ringtone again, because what blasts from his phone is Toni Basil singing "Hey Mickey". He flails to answer it, not wasting any time checking the caller ID.

"What?" he half-whispers, his voice harsh with embarrassment. They split up only half an hour ago, for crying out loud.

"Um... Hi."

No. Patrick is not having this conversation in the middle of a record store. And dammit, he just got here.

"Your timing sucks ass." He snaps.

"I... sorry."

Patrick refuses to feel guilty about the defeated tone in Nick's voice. There is _vinyl_, for the first time in weeks and Nick is an asshole and...

"I'll see you 'round or something."

"Fuck." Patrick is going to make Nick pay for this later, but that requires Nick to be still speaking to him later. "Nick, don't... just... give me half an hour."

"Yeah?" Dammit, Nick is not allowed to sound so hopeful when Patrick is mad at him.

"Lemme finish up here and get back to the hotel. I'll call you."

"Okay." Nick definitely sounds brighter. "Talk to you soon."

Patrick has never heard anyone sound so eager for what promises to be a hell of a conversation.

* * * * * *

Patrick makes it back to his hotel room in a little over the half hour, with a plastic bag full of records. It meant talking to one of the clerks instead of spending hours wallowing, and taking a taxi back, but all in all, a good day, retail-wise.

He sets his treasures down carefully on the desk and sits on the bed. Andy is still out somewhere, thank goodness. He stares at the "last call" display for a good minute before finally hitting send.

Nick picks up on the first ring. "Thank fuck. I know I'm an asshole, and I know you deserve to make me wait, but I was going a little crazy."

"I wasn't even ten minutes late," Patrick protests, amused despite himself.

"Patrick, you're a songwriter. You should know we can change the world in less than four minutes. A minute is a _long fucking time_."

"Who replaced my boyfriend with such a hardcore idealist?" The words are out before he even thinks.

"You know, I'm supposed to apologize first," Nick says after a moment's silence. "I'm pretty sure you should be making me grovel. And I really, really need you to get why I was so harsh on you, but you're making me feel like more of a worm for even bringing the whole thing up again. Are we just not talking about this?"

That is definitely not what Patrick wants. "No. No, you're totally talking about this, dude. I worked fucking hard on those songs, I was proud of those songs, they're my songs too, Nick. And fuck you for making me feel like some kind of whore."

Nick inhales audibly. "I hope you know I didn't mean it. I'm really, really, unbelievably sorry I said something so shitty, but I swear, Patrick, I didn't mean it."

It's a good start, but it still doesn't tell Patrick _why_. "Look. You realize that if, and it's still kind of a big if, I forgive you, we're probably going to be working together again. I'm gonna need more than "I'm sorry", I need to know why you said it, and if you're going to pull some kind of similar shit on me later."

"I... maybe." Nick sounds really ashamed of himself, and Patrick should appreciate the honesty but he really doesn't. "I'm a mean asshole when you set me off. Used to punch people out, too, but now I mostly run my mouth."

The thing is, Patrick knows how to deal with that. Patrick does deal with that. Patrick doesn't want to have to deal with that with his boyfriend. "What do your guys do?"

"They don't usually let me get that far. AJ threatens to kick my ass if I open my mouth, Howie walks away, Kevin gives me the eybrow till I calm down... sometimes Brian sends me to my room."

"Or...?"

"He hugs it out of me." Nick sounds even _more_ ashamed of that.

"I can do that."

"Yeah?"

"I can also totally hang up on you. I'm told I'm talented at that."

"Yeah, that works too." Nick manages a laugh. "But I've been told that I should communicate more. Actually I've been told it a lot."

"So communicate."

"The thing is..." Nick sighs. "This is going to sound totally lame, but... you're the only one I could actually get mad at."

"Excuse me?"

"Like... if I got mad at you, it got you off the phone, it got you away from me, it got you mad... it did stuff." Nick shifts the phone a little, maybe shrugging. "There's no point in getting mad at the label. It never does any good, unless you bring in the lawyers and that's just long and ugly."

Patrick has no words.

"That's what happened last time. They fucked the guys over by offering me a solo contract, and the guys brought in the lawyers, and they fought the label, and they fought me, and they almost went on and did an album without me and..." Nick's voice cracks.

Patrick closes his eyes. He knows, at least, what that must have meant to Nick, to think, even for a little bit, that his guys might actually leave him behind.

"If I stand up and fight for our stuff, Patrick... if I remember how fucking good our stuff is, and how awesome you were and how much I want to say fuck the label and put it all out there, it'll mess up all their plans again and I can't do that to them. I can live without the solo career. You were asking me to do something I just can't and that pissed me off, that you didn't get that."

Patrick starts to say something, but Nick just keeps babbling, the words almost tripping over themselves as if he knows that if he stops, he won't be able to start again.

"And I'm sorry I didn't explain right, that I let you think there was a chance in hell Jive wasn't going to fuck me over, but you really liked what I was doing, and you were so enthusiastic, and I had so much fun.... sometimes I forgot what was at the end of the tunnel. So I got mad at me, and I took that out on you, too."

"I still haven't told the guys everything, and we have a meeting with the fucking label tomorrow for tour stuff and, well, AJ's putting out a record in January and Howie's got one coming out next year too, and the label put them through shit before they let them even have this chance and... it's stupid wanting my second chance when they haven't had their first. So I try to suck it up and then I get mad at them for making me feel like I have to suck it up, and that's even more stupid and..." Nick finally takes a breath. "Basically, your boyfriend's a fuck up."

"Hey." Patrick says gently. "No insulting my boyfriend."

He hasn't completely forgiven Nick, and they're going to have a talk about sharing information before Nick explodes with it, but... Nick needs somebody right now. Patrick's pretty okay with being that somebody. Besides, he hasn't given up on this album just yet.

* * * * * *

 

In the end, Patrick doesn't help much with what to say, just distracts Nick into a conversation about the records he bought today and gets a much less sincere apology out of him for dragging Patrick out of his place of worship. If nothing else, it clears Nick's head and lightens his mood. One conversation down, one to go.

It's already ten thirty, and Nick's tempted to just let it go until the morning, since they have yet another day of rehearsal before the meeting and sleep is worth more than gold. But if he waits and things go badly, it'll derail the entire day's rehearsals, he knows it will.

They've rented a house with a dance studio for rehearsals, which gives them all a little more privacy than there was in the old days - each of them with their own rooms - but still brings back the old feelings of hell week when all they did was eat, sleep and breathe dancing and singing. The pace is a _little_ less hectic this time around but not so much that anyone but them and maybe NSYNC would notice.

Nick's still too much of a coward to go knocking on Brian's bedroom door first thing. He wanders into the game area and finds AJ and Brian taking each other to school over MarioKart. The screen says AJ is winning but it's pretty close, and you couldn't tell from the smack Brian is talking. To Nick's practiced eye, they're about a minute away from giving up on the game and going for an all-out wrestling match on the couch.

"Hey guys?"

"AJ McLean, does your mama know she raised a dirty rotten cheater?"

"She knows she raised an amazingly talented son who can whip your ass."

"Guys?" Nick tries again, coming closer. He considers standing in front of the TV but it's probably more than his life is worth.

"Oh, you did not just try that."

"I got away with it too, baby."

"And you're calling _me_ a cheater."

"GUYS!"

"Hey Nick!"

"What's up?"

He sighs. "Where's Howie?"

"On the phone." Brian says without looking up.

This is not a helpful answer. Howie could be on the moon, and he'd still be on the phone. "Where?"

"In his room, I think. You have legs, go check."

"Fine. Band meeting when I find him, okay?"

The game stops abruptly and both guys look at him, concern etched deep on their faces.

"Just... stay here. I'll go get Howie."

Luckily for Nick, Howie is emerging from his bedroom, phone in hand but not to his ear. Nick was prepared to just stick his head in the room and say "band meeting" but most of Howie's phone conversations lately have revolved around wedding plans and really Nick can do without having any of Howie's extended family or his fiancee mad at him.

"Hey," he says instead and grabs Howie's wrist. "Meeting in the games room. C'mon."

Howie makes a confused "Whuh?" type sound, but Nick just ignores him and drags him down the hall.

AJ and Brian have put away the gaming console and are huddled up together on the couch, muttering in low, worried voices. It's been all of five minutes. They've probably decided Nick's about to run away and marry Nicole Ritchie or something stupid like that.

He waves Howie onto the couch next to Brian, and perches himself on the nearby loveseat. "I've been kind of an ass this week, and y'all need to know why before we walk into that meeting tomorrow."

"Please tell me that Jive doesn't know about your problems before we do." AJ asks, completely serious.

"Jive are _causing_ the problems." He explains. It's easier to look AJ in the eye than he thought it would be. "Patrick and I finished up a couple weeks ago. Few days ago, Jive told me they wouldn't release even one song we worked on."

Howie rolls his eyes. "Here we go again."

"All right," Brian leans forward, ever practical. "Who was in your meeting? We'll make sure you don't have to talk to anybody who was there."

"Wait, stop." AJ waves his hands in the air. "Did I miss something? When did you have a meeting?"

"Teleconference at lunch the other day." Nick says. It's not quite the reaction he was hoping for but it's more or less the reaction he was expecting. "I don't really remember who all was in on it. You know what they sound like when they're poking at one of us - I just don't want 'em getting the satisfaction of a reaction, y'know?"

"Good point," Brian nods. "Thanks for the warning. You'll be okay?"

"I'll keep my mouth shut." And okay that came out bitchier than he meant it to. AJ's looking at him funny.

"Nick, how many songs did you give them?"

Nick swallows. "Twelve. Rough-cut, mostly, but beginning to end an album."

This gets Brian's attention. "Wait. You told me you were paying for all this yourself."

"Yup." He's fairly sure he mentioned it as an album before this.

"You paid for two days of full-on studio time with session musicians."

"Is there a point here, Frick?"

"Are they at least paying you back?" Howie wants to know.

Nick has to roll his eyes at that one. "Sure, D. Also, we're totally doing this radio show tour by private jet."

"And there was that song," Brian presses onward.

"Because we all thought they were likely to release a song like that."

"You don't really want to release some other album, do you?"

"I guess I'm going to have to." Nick stands up, pushing off from the loveseat. "Look, I just wanted to make sure you guys knew."

"JC left Jive." AJ pipes up.

"JC's band broke up. JC had nothing stopping him from leaving Jive." Nick counters. "What do you think they'll do to your album if I rock the boat? To Howie's? We haven't settled on promo for half the tour yet."

"You want to sit on it for a while, that's your choice, Nick." Brian tells him. "But you want to fight, we've got your back."

And that is so completely not what Nick was expecting to hear, he has to flee.

* * * * * *

It's somewhere around three in the morning when Nick's phone rings and he's almost proud he's coordinated enough to get it to his ear.

"It's just..." Patrick says, sounding young and a little scared. "Since this band started, no one's ever done that to me."

Nick pulls himself into a sitting position, attempting wakefulness as quickly as possible. "No one's ever said no to your music?" He knows that's probably not what Patrick's saying, but he sounds like he needs to get a hell of a lot off his chest before Nick can feel all right explaining label politics.

"Of course they have." "Moron" remains unsaid. "Pete tells me stuff sucks all the time. Andy re-writes my drum parts and Joe walks all over my guitar parts, the people I produce swear up and down I'm ruining their sound... that's part of the process. It's not the same thing."

"I know."

"Our label... they pick the singles. And maybe sometimes they'll give us notes that this song or that song is "inappropriate" for an album. Once in a while they're right, but we usually pull stuff like that before it even gets to the album stage. Pete goes to bat for the other stuff and we mostly win. But even if we don't... there's a reason."

Nick sits listening to Patrick breathe, wishing he could crawl through the phone lines and hug him.

"I know we joke about soulless corporations and "the suits". Okay, Andy's not usually joking. But I never even thought somebody could take two months of work I thought was worth something and shut it down without even saying why. Or did they say why?"

Nick sighs. "Patrick, we could have written _Imagine_ and they would have told me it was a boring piano ballad and too political for the market right now. The reasons were bullshit, dude."

"But they were my songs."

"Yeah, they are." Nick says gently, feeling like an asshole. "I should have let you call in to the meeting."

"I think I would've made it worse."

"You could've fought. I'm too used to all this crap to stand up for myself anymore. And you had a right to be there. I got too wrapped up in my own stuff to remember that. I'm sorry, dawg."

Patrick snorts, and Nick considers it a win. Sometimes he does know what he's saying.

"I've never had a producer like you, y'know? At first the producers were like, God. They had final say in the studio for everything. And then we had the producers who came to us with like, a hook and a chorus, and we had to brainstorm the rest but didn't get any credit for it. Some of 'em didn't even like us."

"That's _stupid_." Nick hears Patrick thump against what sounds like a pillow.

"Different worlds, man." He says, some of the old weariness creeping back in. "Very fucking different. On the first album I was mainly hooking up with people the label set me up with. I liked most of 'em, don't get me wrong, and I got credit for what I did with 'em, but it wasn't all my choice. It was business. It was exciting 'cause hey, first solo album, but it wasn't..."

"You didn't click." Patrick says softly.

"Right. Not like us. That was fucking amazing, the way you tuned in to what I was doing and just made it better. You never talked down to me, you let me argue, hell, you said I was _right_ a couple of times."

"You were, dimbulb." And that's his Patrick. Nick almost doesn't regret the lack of sleep.

"I didn't know what to do with that. I didn't know where to put you."

"I'm pretty sure I'd fit in your back pocket."

"If you did, you'd be living there already and Pete would out for my blood." They laugh, and finally Nick is okay with saying what he's been scared to say, but that Patrick needs to hear. "The songs are good, man. They're awesome. This had fuck all to do with you and everything to do with the fact that I work for assholes who aren't happy with having only one Justin Timberlake on their roster."

"Nick, you don't work for them. They're your label. They're supposed to work for you."

Nick yawns. "Different worlds, Yoda. Different worlds."


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Patrick ponders, Nick plots and Pete admits defeat.

Patrick is trying really hard to wrap his mind around Nick's view of the music business, but it's just not working. He knows there are ways and means to reach out to the fans, get the word out and get music heard that have nothing to do with whether a band has a label or not. The idea that the suits at a label have the last word on whether music got out to the public is bizarre.

Intellectually, he gets Nick's issues about timing and stepping on other people's toes. He understands that going some of the unconventional routes Fall Out Boy took to get noticed take a lot of work. But he keeps listening to those last three songs. Patrick can't shake the belief that these songs are worth the work. Part of him is afraid that despite everything, Nick can't see that.

Because it is possible he's biased. Too emotionally involved to see the album's going to be a huge flop, and the label is really doing Nick a favour. Maybe Patrick's getting wound up about shit that isn't even worth his time. He plays the songs again. They've become a fixture in his playlist, and if he's not careful they're going to make it into his pre-show playlist. He isn't quite obsessed enough to disrespect Nick's wishes and let Pete hear any of it.

Except Nick hadn't said Pete couldn't hear it. He hadn't said anything about Pete personally, had he? He even let Pete listen in on "Safe Haven". He didn't want to be handed a Decaydance contract (which, okay, is pretty much what would happen if Patrick even started a sentence with "Hey Pete there's this great band I like...") but that doesn't mean that Patrick can't share a couple of songs with his best friend. Pete hasn't heard almost any of the album, and beyond his general "Patrick is a musical genius" thing, he never hesitates to tell Patrick when something outright sucks. So.

Thankfully it's a night when they've got hotel rooms. It makes it easier somehow to drop by to visit, burned CD in hand. Pete raises an eyebrow when he sees Patrick in the doorway, probably more at his expression than at his actual presence, but he ushers Patrick in.

"What's up Stump?" he asks, turning the desk chair backwards and sitting.

"I need to ask a favour." Patrick's biting his lip and he shouldn't be this nervous, it's _Pete_ for fuck's sake.

"Anything for you, man. You know that."

He holds out the CD in its jewel case. "I need you to listen to this with your A&amp;R hat on. Tell me... I mean, I know what I think..." even as he stammers his way through this, Patrick's forming a plan. "Tell me how much work you think it needs to go from demo quality to at least indie release. Something a band could put out at a merch table."

"Is this for Decaydance?" Pete frowns a little, taking it from him. "Because I trust your judgment, dude."

"No!" And okay that was a little too vehement, Pete's clearly hurt. "It's not my call on this. But no, this is almost definitely not going to end up with you giving anyone a record deal. It's fucking complicated, I don't know all of it, and I don't _understand_ the shit I do know." He sighs, fiddles with the brim of his hat. "I just... I think this deserves to be out there, not just sitting on my computer. But I could be wrong."

"Okay." Pete nods slowly. "I'll listen, tell you what I think. Tomorrow?"

"Whenever." Patrick shrugs. It's not like there's anyone pushing this but him now. "No deadline on this thing."

"Tomorrow." And okay, that makes him feel a little better.

* * * * * *

If Nick hadn't been a complete idiot, he would have made this call a week ago. Except, a week ago he was fighting with Patrick which made this call both unnecessary and dangerous. Now, it's just dangerous. Only an idiot gives Pete Wentz an _opening_ when he's looking for a reason to kill you.

"Calling to arrange your funeral?" Pete growls at him. Yes, Nick is clearly an idiot.

"Probably?" Nick gulps. "I need a favour."

"Explain why those four words shouldn't make me hang up on you, Nicky?"

"Because I realized I'm an idiot and I apologized to Patrick?" It's worth a shot anyway.

"You probably owe half the tour an apology for siccing Patrick on them. Favours are still very much pushing your luck, bro."

"Because it'll make Patrick happy? I think?"

"Recent events have me believing I'm still a better judge of what makes Patrick happy than you are." Nick holds his breath, waiting. "I'm listening," Pete says grudgingly.

Nick lets out his breath in a whoosh and outlines his plan to Pete. It's not complicated, in fact, Nick's really making the whole event more complicated than it has to be, and he really doesn't need Pete's help for anything but the extra parts, but it could be fun. And maybe it'll let Patrick know that Nick still likes making music with him. Which is probably the important part.

He waits for Pete's verdict.

"I kind of hate you." Pete says, quiet and matter-of-fact. "You're good for him."

Nick resists the urge to double-check the number he's dialed, because he's clearly not talking to _Pete Wentz_ "Weren't you just threatening my life a second ago?"

"That's why this week was so shitty," Pete explains. "Patrick's kind of isolated. Like, he's got us and we rock as friends, don't get me wrong, Carter. And there are lots of other people around who like hanging out with him. But Patrick only really relates to people through his music. Which is why it's such a downer that when he's producing people they tend to just sort of stand back in awe of his amazing musical geniusness. Even if they've been on tour with us before, they're like, surprised that this wicked sarcastic funny little dude is more than just my sidekick or whatever. It's lame."

Pete makes a noise that conveys exactly how tiring the incredible stupidity of the whole world can be.

"And then you come along and you're like, messing around with him, musically. Singing at him and teasing him and making him include you in all the steps of the album and shit. Hell, I think you maybe even managed to teach him stuff. Plus you actually... no, wait. I'm not talking about that stuff. What Patrick does with his dick is like, number one on the list of stuff I don't think about, ever. But you appreciate him, if you get what I'm saying."

"Um, yeah. And now I'm going to forget you ever mentioned that part." Nick makes a note to never even think about thinking about what Pete Wentz may or may not know about his sex life.

"Good call. What I'm saying, Carter, is you made him happy and then you fucked it up. The only reason you're not dead yet is that you apparently have the balls to suck it up and apologize."

"I know. Can you at least not deck me until after we've done our thing onstage?"

"I thought you wanted one favour. Two will cost you even more."

"So you'll do it?"

"Yeah, I'll do it, you sappy romantic ass. But only because it'll make Patrick happy."

"Thanks. See you round, Pete. I promise not to wear padding."

"I promise not to break anything Patrick really likes."

* * * * * *

"Stump, you moron, you could have told me it was Carter's shit." Pete announces, settling himself on Patrick's bed. Pete has had the CD for sixteen hours, not that Patrick's been counting or anything. "It's not like his voice is hard to recognize or anything."

"Yeah, well by the time you recognized his voice, you were already listening to his stuff." Patrick points out. As much as Patrick has explained that he and Nick have more or less made up (except on issues like, oh, this one right here) Pete is insisting on calling best-friend rights and threatening to at least beat Nick up the next time they meet, if not worse. Somehow Patrick is pretty sure this doesn't translate into any sort of eagerness on Pete's part to do anything that might be seen as helping Nick.

However, Patrick has caught on to the fact that once he gets Pete listening to just about any music he's worked on, Pete can't stop himself from listening. Fortunately, Pete hasn't figured out that Patrick knows this yet. He also has confidence in his ability to translate Pete's bullshit and get a good idea of Pete's actual opinion.

"I can't believe you were actually _nervous_ about this," Pete says, stretching out to occupy as much of Patrick's bed as possible. Patrick hangs on to his laptop, not willing to surrender his lap until Pete goes into more detail. "It's not exactly what the market's going for right now, but neither was Panic. Market him right and yeah, he could move a few units."

A knot in Patrick's stomach relaxes. Pete _likes_ it. A lot. Patrick hasn't lost touch with what's actually good in music.

"Hey, did Nick mention any names?" Pete asks, utterly failing to sound casual. "Like, who the A&amp;R guy is that passed on this?"

"Pete, you can't send death threats to other labels." Patrick explains patiently, patting his calf.

"I just don't want an idiot like that suddenly deciding to make a move over to Island Def Jam or something." Pete's innocent face is really good, but Patrick knows "innocent face" from actually innocent.

"You also can't start blacklisting people." Patrick has the idea that Jay-Z might actually listen to Pete on things like that and fuck if he knows what kind of chaos that would start up.

"Who says I can't?" Pete swats idly in the direction of Patrick's hat, too lazy to even come close. "I run a label, sort of. I can't have stupid people working for me. I do enough stupid shit on my own."

"So you liked it?" Patrick prods, both to get Pete off this tangent and to get a few more details out of him.

"He's got potential." Pete admits, sounding like it hurts to say it. "Needs more songwriting practice. Give him a few more years, scuff off some of the clean-cut that's still hanging around, let him play with you more..."

Patrick can't help the smile that creeps over his face at the thought of more hours in the studio with Nick.

"You guys go good together, huh?" The tone of Pete's voice is just a tiny bit off, but it's enough that Patrick sets aside his laptop and stretches out in the space Pete has left him.

"Not as good as you and me, Petey Wentz." Pete makes a noise and buries his nose in Patrick's shoulder. It's true. He and Pete have something that's pretty much impossible to duplicate. It's a little insane and a lot inspired and Patrick's a very lucky dude to have fallen into a _second_ partnership that seems to be working well, but it's not the same at all. "It's a change of pace, though. Something different. It's fun."

"I promise not to hurt him too much." Pete promises solemnly. Patrick laughs and ruffles his hair.

"Thanks, man."

* * * * * *

"Pete likes the album."

Nick sighs. He's not exactly sure why Patrick has decided to start their conversation with this, but because he likes Patrick, he'll play along for a little while.

"You played Pete the whole album?" He responds, trying very hard not to sound pissed. After all, he did tell Patrick they were his songs too. He should have figured out that would mean Pete Wentz getting to hear them.

"He liked it," Patrick repeats stubbornly. "He says it could go places."

"Like Hell?" Nick can't help asking. Despite the truce he and Pete hashed out last night, he can't actually imagine the guy liking his stuff. It's not exactly the kind of thing you expect Pete Wentz, king of emo to listen to. "Are you sure he didn't just like it because it's yours?"

"Fuck you." There's no real heat in Patrick's voice, which is a relief. Nick's not ready for another fight so soon. "I think I know when my songwriting partner is bullshitting me about music. I'm telling you, dude. He thinks it's a good album."

"Okay, okay. I'll take your word for it, dawg."

"You know, if you ever wanted to move labels..." Fortunately for both of them, Nick can tell Patrick's not really trying here. He still can't keep the sharp edge from his voice completely.

"No. Not anytime soon." Even if Jive did have the balls to drop him outright, he's not going to go work for his boyfriend's record label. But the idea that _somebody_ might want the album does make him feel sort of warm and fuzzy, in a daydream kind of way.

"You're a stubborn bastard," Patrick says fondly. Nick smiles, picturing the look on his face.

"Takes one to know one."

"I know you are but what am I?"

Nick laughs. It's been a long day - rehearsals aren't getting any easier the closer they are to hitting the road for the holiday shows - and it's nice to be able to end it with a chat with Patrick, even on this subject. "You're five, dude, I swear."

"I hope I'm a little older than tha-at." The low, sexy register of Patrick's voice is kind of ruined by that yawn. "Dude, I'm so ready to get off the road for a few days. I'm not even sure how many days are left until break."

Nick is very aware, but he's not telling. "Fuck, man. My calendar is all the way across the room. Don't make me get up."

"Mmm, no. No, moving is bad." They're in different time zones still and the late hour is clearly catching up with Patrick. Nick envisions him curled up in bed, glasses off but hat still on, phone pressed to his ear... maybe he'll do a few sketches. "Hey, do me a favour?"

"Whassat?"

"Let Brian hear a few tracks. At least the one Brendon wrote." Patrick yawns again. "You know he's gotta be curious."

"I dunno." It's hard to tell what will set Brian off on a crusade and since he's already said he'll support Nick...

"Hey, they said they'd support you. An' you should remember what it feels like when somebody else tells you your stuff is good. Feels nice."

"Yeah?" And okay, maybe that was the point of this whole call. Nick's suddenly glad Patrick showed Pete, if it made him happy enough to want to share the moment with Nick.

"Yeah. Think about it?"

"Okay, Yoda. For you. Sleep tight now, okay?"

"Night Nicky."


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nick has a surprise for Patrick... but Patrick gets the last word.

It's four days until their first performance with the new band and choreography and all the Boys are going nuts trying to unwind enough to sleep after rehearsals. So Nick's pretty sure that if he offers a couple of his tracks as a distraction, Brian's not going to be the only one to take him up on the offer.

It doesn't make him any less shy about it, though. He waits until dinner time, when it's AJ's turn to cook and they're all hanging out in the kitchen just in case. Not that AJ's bad in the kitchen, but after years of bus cooking, they've started to expect freak kitchen accidents. It's hard to remember that in a real house the kitchen won't abruptly lurch to the left or something.

"Wanna do something after dinner?" Nick asks Brian, leaning against the island.

"Something that don't involve a lot of movement?" Brian shoots back.

"I hear that," AJ seconds from the stove. He's doing something involving pasta, is all Nick knows. Howie's handling chopping duties.

"I don't know about you guys, but I'm going to _sleep_ after dinner." Howie declares.

"Is that what they're calling it?" AJ says. "I didn't know you could ring up long-distance bills in your sleep, dude." They all snicker. Howie rolls his eyes and tosses some diced onion in AJ's direction.

"So, movies?" Brian suggests, nudging Nick. "Something from the Jim Carrey oeuvre?"

"I was thinking maybe," Nick ducks his head and mumbles to the counter "I could play you some of the new stuff."

"What was that, Nicky?" It's hard to tell sometimes if Howie's being obnoxious on purpose or not. Nick suspects this is payback for snickering.

"Songs with Patrick." He says more clearly, not looking up. "Wanna hear?"

"You kidding?" Brian pats his shoulder. "I'm dyin' of curiosity over here."

"Music that's not off _Unbreakable_?" AJ asks. "Count me in, dude."

"I..." Howie's phone rings.

"...have to talk to your fiancee." Brian finishes. Howie flips him off and walks out, phone to his ear.

"Y'think he'll remember to eat?" Brian asks no one in particular.

* * * * * *

_Let me know when Nick plays you his stuff_

Patrick feels a little bad about having sort-of-lied to Nick. It's possible he wasn't quite as tired as he'd pretended to be during their last conversation. It's possible that mentioning Brian wasn't entirely off-hand. In fact, given that Patrick calculated about when the Boys would be on their dinner break today and made sure to have time to send Brian a text message at that point, it's likely that he might have something of a plan.

When he comes offstage and checks his messages, he finds out that his plan is working so far. Brian has answered.

_Whatever you're plotting, Stump, I'm in. I'll be up all night._

Patrick feels weird retiring to his room and dialing the number of a Backstreet Boy who isn't Nick, but sacrifices must be made. Even if Brian is a little scary. Actually, in this case, _because_ Brian is pretty scary.

"Talk to me." Brian says, his southern drawl making what should be a snappy statement sound kind of funny.

"What did he play for you?" Patrick asks, settling himself on the edge of his bed. He flips open his laptop one-handed.

"I expected he'd sing his big ol' heart out on the song that will set his mother on the warpath again." Is the response. "I knew that one would be good. Then he played me the one about the water." Brian goes silent for a moment before admitting, "That was the one that broke my heart. It's gorgeous."

Patrick takes a second to remember the piano that weaves through the track, and how hard Brendon had to work to get it right. "Yeah." Then he shakes it off and gets down to business. "So you're in?"

"If you're looking for someone to help you get those songs heard, you've got the right guy. Heck, I get the feeling it's the only way _I'm_ going to hear the rest."

"Nick won't be completely pissed at me?"

"Mmmm," Brian considers. "Depends what you're going to do."

"Not sure yet," Patrick admits. "I'm missing information. But I think you can get it for me."

"I _am_ an expert in Nickolas Gene Carter."

Patrick laughs. "I'm sure you are, dude. I need you for something else."

"I'm all ears."

"I need a copy of Nick's contract."

Brian whistles. "You're not asking for much, are you son?"

"I need to know what my options are. I can't risk Jive being petty and shutting us down on a technicality."

"No, you can't." Brian says slowly. "They are small-minded, petty excuses for human beings and they will not let you get away with anything."

The frost in Brian's voice makes Patrick nervous and it's not even directed at him. "Can you help me out?"

"I can call in a favour or two."

"Cool."

Scans of Nick's contract are in Patrick's inbox by lunchtime the next day.

* * * * * *

Deciphering the contract takes some help from Pete, but eventually Patrick's suspicions are confirmed. Jive made a mistake of massive proportions when they cut Nick off. Since they didn't pay for any of the songs, or the recording time, or Patrick's time, or one dime at all for anything related to this version of the album, they don't own it. According to Nick's contract they have right of first refusal on anything Nick puts out, but that's it.

After a spontaneous burst of enthusiasm that involves more kissing of Pete than Nick would probably want to know aobut, Patrick makes a private vow that that one refusal is going to be, at the very least, a source of much embarrassment over at Jive. He has idle fantasies of whole departments being fired.

He indulges these fantasies while playing around at Purevolume.com.

The plan is very simple. Patrick knows the value of a grassroots, fan-based movement. Purevolume has played a part in the history of almost every band he knows. He has also learned that things fans talk about eventually get the attention of bloggers, who get the attention of the mainstream press. (He tries not to think about a particular set of pictures that demonstrated that process so very well.) Nick Carter already has several million fans. If an anonymous source or two (this is Pete's favourite part of the plan) were to mention new Nick Carter tracks on the right websites, Patrick is pretty certain things would start to happen.

Originally Patrick was just going put them up there on a free account. After all, he doesn't really want the account noticed until he can talk to Nick, and this is a talk they need to have in person. But he's not going to be seeing Nick for a couple of weeks, and Patrick won't be able to track any random downloads that might happen in the meantime unless it's a paid account. So, with a couple of studio pictures off of Pete's iPhone, there is suddenly a full-fledged Nick Carter site on Purevolume, featuring _Safe Haven_ and two other new songs. He leaves out Brendon's song. The story about the label will be juicy enough - Nick doesn't need more controversy before things really get going.

He swears Pete to secrecy, vetoing even the most cryptic of blog posts. Pete pouts and looks ready to do something sneaky. Rather than resort to finding and reading all of Pete's blogs for the next few weeks (which really, Pete probably doesn't want any more than Patrick wants to do it), Patrick adds "produced by Patrick Stump" to each song title. The weirdest things make Pete happy.

* * * * * *

From all reports, Patrick has been having a really crappy day. Nick comes offstage to a long and grumpy voicemail about traffic and idiotic deejays and how even five songs ought to be soundchecked. He has to take a minute to fight down the laughter before hiding himself away to send a few text messages of commiseration.

It isn't that the Jingle Ball shows are technically a tour, but there are so many big radio stations who do holiday shows with that or similar names in December, that they might as well be. New York, Boston, Chicago, LA... As well as some of the smaller-market shows, the Boys have been invited to the New York and LA ones this year, a sign that no matter what they're _selling_ at, all that work dropping into radio stations had paid off in terms of requests.

It's New York tonight. They're not the headliners, they're the middle of the pack, just three songs, but they rate enough to bring the full band and it makes for a good rehearsal. Fall Out Boy aren't the headliners either, but they're in the top three, which means five songs. Due to some convenient timing issues that involved Fall Out Boy's tour ending last night on the other side of the country, Patrick isn't aware that Nick's at the show. Pete, however, is.

Nick's not sure how Pete plans to guarantee that noone mentions to Patrick who else is on tonight's bill, but for him the hardest part is not making a beeline for places Patrick is likely to be beforehand. From the voicemail he knows Patrick is backstage _somewhere_ but luckily Madison Square Gardens was not designed to house so many performers and it's a total labyrinth. In fact, Nick got so busy trying to avoid the main crowd that he might be a little lost. Hopefully he can find his way back in time.

His cellphone vibrates with a message from Pete. "on in 5 asshole". Nick grabs a passing someone-with-a-laminate and gets pointed towards the stage.

He finds his way just offstage by the first chorus of _Thriller_. He's more nervous about this than he was about his own set. Of course that was something he'd rehearsed a zillion times in the past month. This, he's sung along with his iPod a few times. And there's that cover version he and Patrick are never telling Pete about. Plus there's the added anxiety of whether Patrick will attempt to kill him right onstage. Patrick's not that great with surprises.

By the time they're into the third song, _Thnks fr th Mmrs_, the high-energy set and Patrick's voice have combined to channel Nick's adrenaline away from nervousness and into something else entirely. He's not the only artist watching Fall Out Boy from the wings, so he wipes his sweaty palms against his jeans and tries his best to keep to the shadows. Performance hard-ons can be explained away. Getting a boner while watching someone else perform is another category all together. He's not sure he can wait an entire song and a half for this.

Finally, Pete intros _Sophomore Slump_, which must have come as a surprise to Patrick when Pete suggested it for the set. Nick taps one of the techs and motions towards the mic conspicuously labeled "surprise guest" in Pete's spiky hand. Now he's _vibrating_, but with a mic in his hand he can be professional. He slips in some harmony on the second chorus and watches Patrick blink in confusion, but doesn't come out until his cue.

"...gotta sunset in my veins, and I need to take a pill to make this town feel okay."

The crowd notices he's onstage before Patrick does, which is sort of gratifying, but then Nick launches into the William Beckett part and Patrick whirls around like he's Joe or something. Nick can see that Patrick's brain isn't talking to his hands anymore, he's just playing on automatic as Nick advances on him, still singing, and probably grinning like an idiot. He manages to get Patrick pointed towards his mic again in time for his next lyric.

They sing back and forth at each other, practically touching for the next couple of lines until the pause.

"Are we growing up... or just going dowwwwwwwwwwwn," Nick hits his knees as Pete joins in with his screaming thing (Nick will never understand that part, and it's even weirder-sounding onstage). It's typical Nick Carter stage antics, but seriously, Nick's not sure his knees would have lasted much longer anyway, the way Patrick is _belting_ his part out close enough to touch. Nick finishes the song on his knees and there's a roar when Patrick finally lends him a hand up for his bow.

And what the hell it's a Fall Out Boy show. Nick steals a quick kiss on Patrick's cheek before darting back offstage to rock out to _Sugar_.

* * * * * *

Patrick isn't entirely sure that just happened. Except Pete's grinning a little too widely and keeping away from him onstage just a little too obviously for that to not have happened. Apparently Patrick's boyfriend just came out and sang with him... and kissed him in public.

Okay so when Bill comes out to sing that part, he often molests someone before leaving, usually Pete. It's not like the fans will know this was anything different. Except, Patrick's boyfriend just kissed him in public. He's pretty sure his brain is frozen on that. Hopefully, his mouth is on automatic, and he's singing something that vaguely resembles _Sugar, We're Going Down_. He'd probably notice if he hit the wrong chords, but it's entirely possible he's singing gibberish and the crowd is just going along with it.

When the song comes to an end, Patrick manages to keep himself to a relaxed jog as he heads offstage. Nick is waiting for him just down the first ramp that leads to the jumble of dressing rooms and general backstage area.

"You are a complete and total moron!" He reaches up to smack Nick's head and mostly gets his shoulder as Nick twists away, giggling. "I can't believe you did that! I can't believe Pete let you talk him into that! I can't believe you didn't _tell_ me... Wait." He steps back from Nick and attempts a very severe glare. "Were you _performing_ tonight and didn't tell me?"

"Hey, dawg." Nick raises his hands, warding off the accusation. "You were in traffic. I knew you wouldn't make it in time to see us."

"So, what, you decided to come and show me what an awesome singer you are?"

"Oh, you loved it."

Patrick's about to say more, but Jojo, one of the deejays hosting tonight's semi-controlled chaos, is coming down the ramp towards them with a microphone.

"Nick, man!" says the deejay, mic clearly already recording. "Nick Carter with probably the most unexpected performance of the night, guesting on _Sophomore Slump_ with Fall Out Boy. So tell me, when did you first hook up with these guys?"

Nick looks a little uneasy, but Patrick can feel him tensing up, readying himself to give some bullshit reply. No one who has spent six years on the road with Pete Wentz can fail to recognize an opportunity for a little payback when it comes their way. Patrick seizes the moment.

"Oh you know," he says, leaning closer to the mic. "I met Nick at one of his solo gigs - he's pretty impressive for somebody with his background. So I got interested, we started talking."

"Yeah," Nick sounds relieved that Patrick's half-truth is plausible. He slings an arm around Patrick's shoulders. "Patrick's a pretty neat dude. And you know I've always been the rock guy. I've liked Fall Out Boy for a while, man."

"Any possibility of hearing Nick Carter on a Fall Out Boy record?"

"I dunno," Nick demurs. "Our schedules are pretty hectic."

"But we have been working together for the past couple of months." Nick is going to kill him. Nick is going to kill him and it's totally going to be worth it. "You can actually check out a couple of tracks if you look Nick up on Purevolume.com."

"Wow! That's a scoop. You heard it here first, folks. Patrick Stump from Fall Out Boy and Backstreet Boy Nick Carter have been collaborating on a new project. Check it out at Purevolume.com, I know I will!" Jojo switches off the mic and becomes a little less animated. "Thanks guys, that was awesome. Definitely make it in our highlights for tomorrow morning, and on the website, of course."

"Yeah, no problem." Nick's arm has tightened almost enough to hurt, but he's a pro and keeps going. "See you 'round, man."

When the deejay has disappeared, Nick hauls Patrick into the nearest empty corner. "What the fuck was that?"

Patrick takes a deep breath, lets it out slowly. "Okay, hear me out. If you don't want to go for it, I can kill the site as soon as I can get to a computer. Probably before that bit actually makes it to air."

That calms Nick down a little. "If we end up with ten million fan questions about songs that don't exist, I'm blaming it all on you, dawg."

"Fair enough. Look, you said you liked the songs, that you thought they were good enough to make a record. You know I think so too. So does Pete, and Brian is dying to hear more."

"You got Brian involved." Nick closes his eyes and leans back against the wall. "I'm so dead."

"Look, all I did was ask Brian to get me a copy of your contract. You were the one who played him the songs."

"Because you said... You're a sneaky bastard, Patrick." He almost sounds admiring. Patrick presses his advantage.

"I read your contract, dude. Jive can't touch our stuff - you paid for it, you own it. Jive only gets first-listen to stuff they haven't paid for. They already said no. You can do whatever you want with them."

"Yeah, except take them to another label and record a CD." Nick shakes his head. "I'm pretty sure _that's_ a violation of the contract."

"And if the entire army of Backstreet fangirls go to Purevolume and download the three songs I put up? What's Jive going to do then?" And because modesty really won't help his case tonight, "What happens when the Fall Out Boy fans hear I've got new stuff out? You don't think they're going to want more?"

"You really think this could work, don't you?" Nick's actually listening now, and there might even be a small glimmer of enthusiasm in his eyes. "You think they're that good?"

"I'm not saying you're going to end up the most downloaded artist on Purevolume tomorrow," Patrick admits. "But I think we can work it enough to get you some leverage." He manages a weak grin. "Stick with me kid, I'll make you a star?"

"You know," Nick leans close, pausing with his lips an inch from Patrick's. "I think maybe I will."


End file.
